#ghoap punisher au | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tiddygame · 7 months ago

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Ghoap god type au part 3!

Ao3 /// part 1 /// part 2 /// part 3 /// part 4 /// part 5 /// part 6 /// part 7 /// part 8 /// part 9

Their first official meeting face to… well, almost face. Soap’s doing his best.

[Disclaimer: I have been fiddling with this for ages, and just like everything else i’ve written, i’m not quite happy with it but i’m done looking at it. sorry if it’s awful lmao. also it’s around 5 goddamn thousand words]

Another battle won, another victory to add to the general’s reputation, and another fight that left Ghost feeling empty.

Part of him hated that he had become a disciple for the god of death. It was hard not to notice the changes that started after he first left an offering for the god. The way he felt a little less alone, the way enemy arrows would occasionally miss their target, the way the aches of battle faded much sooner, the way the world seemed a bit brighter. The way it gave him hope.

Hope was a dangerous thing. It tricked him into thinking he was meant for more than just dying on the battlefield. Made him believe that he could have a happy ending.

In reality however, Ghost would live and die a prisoner, having forgotten the taste of freedom. The world was not bright. It was cruel. If there were any good in the world, the other side would have won. Would have slaughtered them like pigs.

Instead, they lived to fight another day. Once the wounded were stable, they moved on. Found a spot to camp on a riverbank. As always, Ghost ran off. Let himself indulge in the falsity of hope.

By now, everyone in the camp was used to his routine. The only one brave enough to confront him was the general and so long as he returned to be his rabid dog whenever he needed, he learned not to care.

So, he left. Continued his search for more temples that once housed devout believers of the god of death. He appreciated the distraction from the real world, a short respite found in half-mindless wandering through abandoned cities or overgrown forests.

Ghost still knew very little about the god. While he knew the story of why the god had been forgotten, he still knew next to nothing about who the god was. They didn’t seem too bad at least; Ghost was still alive and has yet to be punished to an eternity of suffering.

He knew if he tried asking the god, (if he received an answer at all) it would all be what he wanted to hear and not the truth. So, he searched.

Most temples were too dilapidated to glean any information, but the little he had gathered seemed to point in a mostly positive direction. But he still needed to know more. He didn’t even know the god’s name for fuck’s sake.

Wandering through the forest, he wasn’t too worried about getting lost. It wasn’t so dense that shadows swallowed it whole and he could always follow the river to find his way back out.

Over the months spent on this routine, he’d learned a lot about how to find the temples, especially in forests like this one. It was rather simple: find a trail of slightly younger trees and follow them.

The much bigger, much older trees would outline a path that had long been lost to time. While hundreds upon hundreds of years have passed since the god was praised, the evidence was still dug into the earth.

Sure enough, after an hour or two of following a line of newer trees, he found a temple. It was the most intact one he’d found yet, all four walls still up, even if they looked ready to cave in at any moment. The only structural integrity was likely from the amount of vines slithering in through the cracks, acting as rope to hold together a building that wanted nothing more than to collapse.

The inside was surprisingly well lit. The holes in the roof that had been filled with various plants let in a soft green light. In the middle, extending from the back wall was a pedestal atop which sat crumbled rocks. As he guessed, taking a closer look proved it to have once been a statue that had either fallen prey to the passage of time or the anger of the locals.

Turning his attention to the walls, on his right was another doorway that would have led to a balcony overlooking the surroundings. Now, however, it was a simple curtain of vines leading to a pile of rubble falling down the hill. On his left was a wall of vines that was so thick, he wasn’t even sure if the wall was still there. But just peeking out towards the bottom looked to be the bottom edge of something that had been carved into the rock.

Curiosity piqued, he walked over and tugged at the ivy. Most didn’t even budge, but he was able to move enough to see that it was likely a mural of some sort. He hoped it was, at least. He was desperate for any information on who or what he’s been helping.

Pulling at the vines only resulted in his hands becoming covered in ants that had been hiding and he had a vague thought about setting fire to it, but there’s no way it would catch and if by some miracle it did, it would likely cause a forest fire. No other option readily available, he sighed and drew his knife, beginning the long and arduous process of hacking through each individual branch.

There was no easy way to do it. They clung to the wall so tightly that to try and slash them would just scrape the edge of his knife on the stone and ruin the edge. The brambles on them made him very grateful for his gloves saving him from turning his fingers into mincemeat. He worked carefully, pulling far enough to get his knife under the stems and cutting through them one by one.

It took hours of meticulous removal and a smarter man would have stopped a long time ago. But Ghost was determined now, he started the process and he couldn’t leave until it was finished.

He didn’t pay too much attention to the actual mural as he worked his way through them, waiting until he could see the full thing. At some point, he had to stop to light a small torch. Darkness having begun to set in, he didn’t notice he had cleared most of it until he took a step back.

As he suspected, it was a mural of the god, depicting some of his godly deeds. The original carving was already rather simplistic and the aging didn't help in deciphering what story it was telling. He was worried that in brushing off the dirt, the carvings would come with it, so instead he brought his torch closer and tried to figure out what he was looking at.

It seemed to be a set of stories, all of which featured the god as kind, helping people who were suffering. The first carving was of an old man on his deathbed, the god putting his hand over his eyes. The next was of parents watching as the god kissed their newborn on the forehead. The third grabbed his attention.

It was a soldier with a knife in his chest, the god holding his hand.

Months ago, Ghost had been in that exact situation. Dying was certain, and yet instead of doing whatever it is the god of death does when someone is dying, the god saved him. Healed a fatal wound with a golden scar. (And put a flower behind his ear, but he often elected not to think about that when remembering the event.)

All of the carvings were different tellings of the same story. For months he had been asking the same question with no answer: Why was Ghost’s story different?

Ghost shook his head. As always when trying to think about the why of it all, he concluded to not think about it. To just push it aside and ignore it. Whatever snake was hiding in the grass waiting to strike was too hidden for Ghost to see. Until the day comes that he gets bit, he will forget about it.

Pulling himself away from the third image, he turned back to the statue. The mural didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know and hoped the collapsed statue would hold some answers.

Sure enough, it was still just as collapsed as before. There were marks in the rocks that proved it wasn’t the passage of time that felled it, but the anger of a mob.

Now looking at the pedestal with the torch, he saw the shadow of inscriptions on a plaque near the bottom. Kneeling down to get a better visual, he saw that it was four words written in an ancient language.

ᓭ𝙹ᔑ!¡, ˧𝙹⟍̅ 𝙹⎓ ⟍̅ᒷᔑℸ ̣⍑.

He remembered little of the translation, recognizing the third word was “of,” and after scraping through his memory, he was pretty sure the second word was “god.” Either that or fish. His memory is not that great.

____, GOD OF _____.

Well, it didn’t take a genius to deduce what the rest of it said. While he was iffy on the translations, he knew the phonetics well. Excited to possibly have the god's name in front of him, Ghost made a mistake.

Which, he would like to clarify, he knows that he’s an idiot. Stupid, dumb, anything and everything between. Obviously, common sense dictates that when you find strange writing anywhere, but especially in an ancient temple, you DO NOT READ IT OUT LOUD.

However, as previously stated, stupid dumb idiot and all that. In his defense, he wasn’t fully aware he was doing it. It had been a while since reading the dead language and the old carving made it hard to decipher the glyphs.

So, not thinking, he sounded them out. Out loud. Reading a random sentence in an abandoned temple of the god of death, who was abandoned after claims of being a monster. It was not Ghost’s proudest moment.

But, he did manage to read it, saying to an empty temple, “Sau— No… Soap, God of… Death?”

He didn’t know if he read it properly. When he had learned the script, it had been taught with handwritten letters. How they looked on a pen and paper was very different to how they looked carved into stone. He decided to risk delicately brushing away some of the dirt, following the indentation of the letters.

He was still trying to read the plaque when he became aware of someone behind him.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he carefully maintained his position, not giving away that he had noticed the person. Looking out of the corner of his eye, he could see their shadow behind him and to the right.

Forcefully maintaining his casualness, he dropped his hand from the plaque and rested it on the ground as if he were just balancing himself. The other went to nonchalantly rest on the buttcap of his sword, holding it like it was happenstance for that to be the more comfortable position. He waited.

They did nothing. They did not move, didn’t take advantage of his weakness, he couldn’t even hear them breathing.

He had a sinking feeling that he already knew what was behind him. And if he was right, his sword would not save him.

Steeling himself, he stood and turned, drawing his sword. At first glance, they were not a soldier, thief, or mercenary. They drew no weapon and barely even reacted to his sudden advance.

It wasn’t human either. It… It “smiled” at him. Every fiber of Ghost’s being was telling him to run, run far away from this thing before it mauled him.

He stood still. No one can outrun Death.

His vision blurred but only when trying to look directly at the god. He was almost… translucent. When he risked a glance to the door, his image began to vibrate, like he didn’t need to hold himself together anymore.

Later, trying to recall any specific features would draw a blank. Eyes, hair, height — anything. He would question if the god had any physical form at all or if he just imagined it.

He needed to get out of there.

It seemed the god was examining him just as closely. Ghost tried to slowly back away, to inch closer to the door, but was stopped by the god circling him. Not having a secure exit made his skin crawl and he was sure to keep the being in his sights the entire time.

In the same way his eyes were warring over whether the god was there or not, he didn’t know how nervous he needed to be. The months spent offering whatever he had in exchange for company and help on the battlefield made him want to relax, to talk to him like he was an old friend.

The lifetime he spent being betrayed and getting used made him want to attack first. The back of his neck prickled at the reminder that he still owed the thing his life. He was not an old friend. He was a deity, the god of death, and would be able to kill him with ease. Ghost kept his sword level with the god despite being all too familiar with its futility.

The god, Soap, stopped his circling and stood in front of him, far too close for comfort. When Ghost backed away, he watched like he was observing a bug he found interesting.

The comparison was far more apt than Ghost wanted to think about.

“Your fellow soldiers call you Ghost, yes?”

It was the first time actually hearing the god speak and it was just as unsettling as he thought it would be. The voice reflected his flickering form, oddly deep and reverberating like it wasn’t meant for this plane.

Subconsciously, his sword slowly drifted down, no longer threatening an attack.

“…Yeah. How do you know that?” He didn’t bother trying to keep the accusatory tone out of his voice.

“I’ve been watching.”

Ghost didn’t like this. Not at all. Everything in his bones was screaming at him to get the fuck out of there. He readjusted his grip on the sword but forgot to raise it. He needs to get out. Now.

The god laughed.

“Don’t give me that look. You’re the first follower I have had in an age. What else was I supposed to do?”

Part of what made his voice sound off finally hit Ghost.

“The god of death is Scottish?” The incredulous tone probably wasn’t doing his life expectancy any favors.

“Aye. And you’re British.”

The god turned and began inspecting the rest of the temple. Ghost didn’t feel the true weight of the god’s stare until it was gone, now taking in several deep breaths as the pressure went away.

“Thanks, I didn’t notice.”

“I thought we were pointing out the obvious.”

The god smiled at him like it was a simple joke. But the annoyance was there. Even if the god was laughing now, that doesn’t mean he would still find Ghost’s disrespect funny in a few minutes. He needs to watch himself and be careful.

“Why do you look all… weird and shit?” Good job, Ghost. Real good about being careful and making sure to overthink his wording. Fucking hell, his own idiocy is going to kill him.

The god pouted his lip. Looking at Ghost with deceptively sad eyes, he asked, “Aw, are you calling me ugly?”

The god returned to examining the ruined temple. Even though he wasn’t looking, Ghost shook his head and raised his hand in a pause gesture. Gods have wiped out entire villages over less. He forced his breathing to remain normal, having to manually count it so as to not panic. Before he could backtrack and likely dig himself in a deeper hole, the god spoke.

“I am still weak. This is the first time I’ve managed to hold onto a tangible form.” Tangible was certainly one way to put it. When he ran his fingers over the ledges on the wall, the dirt and debris didn’t move. Brushing his hands through the vines led to them swaying slightly as if there were a breeze.

Ghost reminded him, “I tried giving you food. You didn’t accept it.”

The god laughed, “I know. The starving man giving the god food.” Ghost wasn’t sure if his tone was meant to be insulting or annoyed.

“Yeah?”

Soap sent him a look he couldn’t decipher, explaining, “Gods don’t eat. Not the way you do. Keep your food.” He made pointed eye contact with Ghost and winked as he said, “I prefer flowers and trinkets anyways.” He turned his attention back to the ruined mural. His eyes were wrong.

Ghost fucking hates gods. What the fuck does that mean?

He pointed out, “If you’re weak, don’t you need everything?”

“I am not that weak. Saving you hurt.”

Ghost prickled further at the reminder, taking a step back. Gripping the handle of his sword tighter, he defensively stated, “I don’t need your help.”

The god scoffed and walked towards him. Ghost tried to back up but the god was faster. The divine being put his hand on his ribs, right where the golden scar sat. With a furrowed brow he angrily stated, “This says otherwise.”

Ghost instinctively jerked away from the touch. It was staticky and cold. Wrong. It was somehow worse than human touch. He was tense, looking to see the gods reaction.

This was worse than dealing with an impatient, angry god. Those were predictable. This one has yet to give him any indication of his limits. Ghost didn’t know what would be the tipping point and could only hope that when it hit, the god would be kind enough to kill him quickly.

To his surprise, the god looked sad. His flash of anger gone and now quieter, he continued, “I was barely in time to save you.” If Ghost didn’t know any better, he’d say the god actually gave a damn about him.

But Ghost did know better. He stared at the third image on the mural. He asked the question that had been plaguing him since waking up from a deadly sleep, “You’re the god of death. Why… Why would you have run out of time? Why save me?”

He sighed, “Healing an otherwise healthy person is easy. Resurrection? Not so much. I do not control death the way people seem to think I do,” the god paused and sadly looked to the broken statue, “…or did. I can help people on their path but not change their course.”

The god was slowly walking closer. Ghost didn’t have much more space to back up, almost cornering himself, he had to angle himself more towards the door, following the wall. It allowed the god to get closer, much closer than Ghost would’ve liked, but it also allowed him to have a realistic escape plan.

Not that he’d be able to run from any god for long. The hope of success was a fickle thing.

Unaware or uncaring of his internal plight, the god happily continued explaining, “You were still on the same path, just veering to the left. Bringing someone back is possible, but not always worth it.”

Not yet learning his lesson about letting sleeping dogs lie, he poked back, “What? ‘They come back different?’”

The god gave a slight nod, “Sometimes, if their soul has been rotted or corrupted. But I meant the cost. Saving you was easy to do with all that you had given. To bring someone back from the dead… Well, there are some fates crueler than death.”

Ghost's eyes hardened, “I’m aware.” The god looked all sad again but he continued before he could interrupt, “But why did you save me?”

The god paused for a moment before simply stating, “You’re kind.”

Ghost scoffed and incredulously repeated, “I’m kind.” He nodded. Ghost continued, “So, you betrayed your own kingdom, domain, whatever to make sure I didn’t die because ‘I’m kind.’”

Soap smiled and for the first time since trying to touch his scar, reached out to him. “Exactly. I like you. You are kinder than someone in your shoes should be. That’s why I saved you.”

His hand hovered next to Ghost’s left. He was waiting for something. The god was still smiling softly at him.

He wants me to close the distance.

He’d rather the god have just grabbed him. Why was he waiting? Why was a god waiting on a mortal? Gods do not ask. They take. Why was this one any different?

When he was a kid, he’d run around trying to pet any and every dog that would let him. He would approach them slowly, holding out his hand for them to sniff. Some would approach immediately, but most took some time. They were half feral and scared of people, hesitant to even approach him.

At that moment, Ghost felt like a scared feral dog. He felt doomed, like there was no way out alive. He didn’t know if the deity was offering safety and comfort, or a quicker and less painful end. Soap’s hand was still extended, still smiling softly.

When a god asks, if you do not give, they will take. And will take more than they would have if you had handed it over to begin with. It’s best to give in before the consequences become worse.

He moved his hand into the god’s hold. It grinned. He tried not to shake.

The god rubbed his thumb along his hand, fingers trailing after an older wound that was on its way to scarring. The touch became slightly more bearable as he grew more accustomed to the peculiarities of the sensation.

After a pause, Ghost shakily contested, “I am not kind. I have more blood on my hands than everyone in the military camp combined.”

Soap, unperturbed, continued messing with his hand, watching the way his fingers bent and twitched. Not looking up, “I said kind, not a pacifist.”

Ghost tried to speak up. The god interrupted. The touch graduated into practically feeling each individual muscle in his arm, like he was trying to remember how a human body is supposed to look.

“However, if you want a more tangible reason, I did, and somewhat still do, owe you.”

Ghost didn't buy it for a second. "What? A god owing a mortal?"

Soap made eye contact once more. Ghost didn’t realize how close he had gotten. The god looked more human, but more wispy as well. His eyes didn’t make Ghost want to turn away before he turned to flame, but he could also see more of the temple through him. Perhaps their meeting would not last much longer.

“I’m sure you are aware that gods can die. the only reason I was still alive was because people would pass the ruins of my temples and remember me.”

He shifted to Ghost’s right and reached for his other arm. Doing the same hovering hesitation, Ghost simply nodded in approval. The god turned his focus to his right hand now, letting go of the left. He did the same examination as before, feeling over his knuckles and trailing what veins he could see up his arm.

…When had Ghost sheathed his sword?

His left arm tingled. He had to tell himself that he did not miss the touch.

“But no one believed in me. I was waiting for another thousand years when I’d be forgotten and could finally die. You not only saved me, but you gave me hope as well.” He accentuated the word by squeezing his arm, or trying to at least. He seemed to be fading fast.

With something in his eyes more earnest than Ghost was used to seeing on even a mortal, the god said, “So yes, I still very much owe you.”

The earnestness was gone and in its place, a joking tone as he continued, “Though, if it’s you I am indebted to, I don’t think that’s too bad of a fate.”

Ghost asked, “So… I don’t owe you a debt?”

Soap looked genuinely confused, “Why would you owe me?” With the way he tilted his head, he almost looked like a confused puppy.

Ghost was at a loss, having no idea how to answer that. The idea that gods just wanted to fuck over everyone they could for their own amusement was so ingrained that to try and put it into words felt impossible.

When he didn’t answer, Soap spoke again, “I like you alive.” His hands moved, one going to feel the pulse point on his wrist and the other sitting over the left side of his chest, feeling his heart. Like he was making sure he was still alive.

The confused furrow did not leave Ghost’s brow at the explanation and he was sure Soap could feel the way his breathing and heart rate kicked up at the touch. He couldn’t tell if he wanted to lean into it and beg him to never let go or skin himself to be rid of the feeling.

“Besides,” Soap said, making eye contact once more. He grinned. It didn’t look human. “I’m not letting you go that easy.”

Ghost ripped himself away, finally in the doorway of the ruined temple. The orange light indicated that dawn was well on its way. He could not hear any birds chirping nor any leaves rustling. It was still smiling from the edge of the shadows.

The god spoke, “I hope we can meet like this again. I had fun.” With that, the divine being stepped forward into the light and fully faded at last.

Ghost took in several deep lungfuls of air. He stood frozen, watching as if waiting to make sure the god did not return. In truth, he was frozen. When it came to fight, flight, or freeze, he thought he had trained himself out of the latter two options.

But he stood there, terrified to move. He didn’t even shift his weight. It felt like to move was to acknowledge what had just happened, and to acknowledge it was to cement it as reality.

A childish part of him hoped he would wake up to find it was all a dream. Forcing himself to turn his back to the door, he ignored the way his back burned at being exposed and unprotected.

He absentmindedly made the long trek down the hill and to the river. He detached his scabbard and kneeled, splashing his face with water, the coolness of it shocking his system.

He turned to the left and vomited. He was shaking so much he almost collapsed. Locking his elbow, he was barely able to balance just to wipe his mouth.

He turned back to the water. Took in a deep breath and submerged his face. He stayed there, pushing the limit of how long he could stay under. His heart was racing, demanding air. He could feel it rattling against his lungs.

Just as the dizziness and weakness began to take hold, he ripped himself up. Taking long, heavy deep breaths, he looked up. Watched as the last of the stars faded into an orange and blue sky.

Stories and warnings from priests came crawling back to him. About what the presence of The Old Gods could do to a mortal. If he was shaking, vomiting, and scared stiff from seeing him while he was still weak…

Good gods, how powerful can this stupid motherfucker get?

He hasn’t felt so… so… so much in a long time. His brain was warring with itself over how he should feel about the interaction. Part of him felt hopeful, thinking that perhaps he might now have someone who actually cares about him and not what he can do for them. Part of him felt so hopeless that he didn’t see the point in getting up, in doing anything other than trying to die before he could cement his fate as a god’s new favorite human plaything.

He blinked and forced his mind to stop. The birds had returned, singing once more. He stood shakily, grabbing his sword and using it to help him up. It sank slightly in the mud.

Day officially broke. In the forest, shadows turned and ran to hide behind the trees. Animals were just starting to wake, some heading to the river to drink.

Ghost stepped into the water, following it downstream and letting the rush of water cover his tracks. The rapids threatened to sweep him away with every step, rocks underfoot falling prey to the force.

By mid morning, the river led him back to the camp.

The other soldiers stopped and stared upon noticing him but did not say a word. In fact, they fell completely silent seeing him wading through water that would drown a lesser man, muddy sheath in hand, soaked to the bone.

He stepped onto the shore, walking at the same slow speed he had in the water. The general, having noticed the sudden silence stepped out of his tent, demanding to know what the problem was. Seeing Ghost, he hesitated before demanding his attention.

Ghost was already on the path towards him. Face to face, the general hesitated, mouth moving but no words spilling forth. Ghost informed him that he was going to go to sleep. The general had yet to find his voice.

Ghost walked to his tent. Dropped his sword. Lied on his cot. He stared at the canvas above him, forgetting to remove his armor and gear.

When he got like this, feeling disconnected from not just his body but his soul as well, he tried to take stock of himself. Mentally document every ache and pain, how his clothes felt, even what the weather was like.

Instead he became aware of one sensation in particular, one clinging to both of his arms, his chest, and a small part of his lower ribs.

Everywhere the god had touched him felt electric.

How long has it been since someone touched me without hurting me?

He wondered why his skin still tingled. Why he missed the feeling.

#soap is kicking his feet twirling his hair and ghost is scared for his life #soaps doing his best alright #old gods this old gods that. simon pretty much went into sensory overload because someone was nice to him #and two things:#yes the mural was inspired by the painting of the grim reaper in white #and this will be the last update to this but just for a bit cause i want to try to do something for mermay #emphasis on try #words have not been wording #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghoap #queue #forgotten death au #me try not to over tag and over explain everything challenge (impossible)#once more posting this right before i sleep #if you’re reading these tags goodnight drink water and i hope sleep comes easily to you when you lie down

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ohbo-ohno · 1 year ago

Note

Ghoap: Cabin + Something isn’t right about (setting). Something is off.

1k game here - no more please!

so sorry, i have no idea if you meant ghost x soap or ghoap x reader lmao but i did ghost x soap cause it's the first thing i had an idea for!

3.8k of a little red riding hood au featuring hunter ghost turning the tables on werewolf soap. noncon physical punishment and smut below the cut! also i put this one on ao3

Something's gone wrong with Price's cabin.

Ghost can tell something isn't quite right as he steps past the little wooden gate, the air still and silent around him. Not a bird or a buck in sight - the forest is unnaturally mute.

Ghost doesn't walk up the path yet. He stands as still as the forest, watching for any hint of movement beneath his red mask.

There's nothing.

He moves slowly towards Price's cabin, footsteps silent even against gravel. Still, nothing moves.

The door is cracked open. Not enough for him to see inside, but enough for him to know that something must be truly wrong. Price has long since spelled his property so that it can only be found by those who want to find it. It should be impossible for anyone unwanted to stumble by.

Unless they're somehow immune to magic.

Ghost draws his gun, quickly checking to make sure his silver bullets are loaded. He pushes the door open, grateful for the oiled joints as it's silent.

The cabin is trashed. Price seems to be unharmed - he's resting on his bed, a large bruise painting one side of his face but his chest rising and falling steadily. All of his furniture is destroyed, though, and his carpet is shredded.

The wolf is in the kitchen.

It's a big fella, dark brown fur and a few scars decorating it's sides and haunches. It's snuffling through a cupboard, probably looking for food that doesn't exist. Price hasn't kept up the facade of eating in decades, so it's not going to find anything.

Sure enough, the wolf ducks out of the cabinet a moment later, empty-handed. It sneezes, makes an unhappy noise in his throat, then spots Ghost.

It's younger than Ghost originally assumed. Not a pup, by any means, but it's limbs are a bit lanky, it's fur is far thicker around the neck than he'd thought, and the teeth it bares in a snarl are pearly white, not stained from years of eating raw carcasses without a way to brush.

It's growl is loud, but surprisingly unintimidating. It doesn't even make to lunge for Ghost, just settles back on it's haunches and lets it's fur stick up, making it look bigger than it really is.

It almost seems like it's not worth it to kill the beast.

But still, Ghost has been hunting the supernatural under Price's command for a long time. If he was a betting man, he'd say this wolf is the one who's been causing disturbances in Price's wards for the last few months.

"You feral?" He asks, leveling his gun at the dog's head. Not much you can do with a feral wolf but put them down, but if the thing still has it's sanity than Ghost can try and talk some sense into it. Put it in it's place a bit.

The wolf's growl tapers off, and a moment later there's a naked man standing in front of him.

He's definitely young, like Ghost expected, but still grown. His shoulders are broad and he stands tall, his muscular frame filling up the kitchen. His scars carry over between forms, scattered across his body. His hair - a fucking mohawk - matches the pair of ears on either side of his head, dark brown.

He's a pretty thing, for a wolf. Big blue eyes framed by dark lashes, plump pink lips, a nose with a little bump in the middle to give it some personality. He'd be cute if he didn't look so scruffy.

"You know where you are, kid?" Ghost grunts, keeping his gun pointed between the wolf's eyes.

He doesn't look too happy, but he answers. "Yeah, 'course. Figured a witch might have some half decent food." He kicks the cabinet with a little pout. "Guessed wrong."

Ghost almost snorts at that, letting his gun fall and holstering it. Idiot kid.

He takes another moment to scan his body. He's quite attractive, with tanned skin and toned muscle. His cock hangs soft between his thighs, thick but not all that long with a dark trail of hair leading down to it. He's got thick thighs and a light dusting of hair across his entire body. There's an extra limb in his shadow that Ghost can tell is a tail, but it's drooping low. Not quite tucked, but close.

A bit of interest sparks in the back of Ghost's mind. It's been a while since he's played with a wolf, .

"Do you know who's house you've just trashed?" He asks, adopting an authoritative tone.

The kid tenses a bit, but doesn't break eye contact with Ghost when he shakes his head.

Ghost gestures over his shoulder to Price's prone form. "That witch you knocked out? That's John Price."

That gets his breath hitching a bit, eyes flickering from Ghost to Price and back again. Ghost can smell the hint of fear in the air, relishes in the slightly widened eyes.

He gets himself under control quickly, stands up a little straighter and plays and being unbothered.

"That make you The Ghost?"

His tone is steady, unwavering. Good for him. The stench of fear doesn't waver, though.

Ghost nods once, lets a bit of his own power shine in his eyes through the mask.

The pup mimics his nod, then rolls his shoulders back, like he's come to a decision. "I don't want any trouble."

"That so?" Ghost asks softly, menace creeping into his tone.

"Yeah. Didn't mean any harm, comin' here. Just wanted something to eat."

"Hmm," Ghost hums, taking a few steps forward. "And knocking out Price, trashing the room, all of that was necessary?"

The wolf scowls, shifting back on his feet. "He's a rude bastard."

Ghost almost snorts at that. "So am I. You gonna pull the same shit with me, pup?"

The man snarls a little, finally taking a little step back and planting his feet again. "Don't call me that. I'm not a pup."

"No?" Ghost coos a bit, stepping so that he's only a few feet away, blocking the only way out of the cabin. "You don't seem to know how to solve your problems like a man. You wolves are good hunters, couldn't kill even one doe to keep yourself fed, puppy?"

It's never good to imply a wolf is weak or unable to take care of themselves, but Ghost knows this man couldn't hurt him, and it's fun to see him riled up. His shoulders rise up like he's trying to make himself seem bigger now that their height difference is more noticeable, and his teeth are fully bared.

"Fuck you," he snarls. "Your boss is the one chasing all the animals away! Some of us have got to fucking eat, it's only right Price goes hungry for once."

He's a bit of an ornery thing, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring up at Ghost like he's being victimized. His ears lay flat on his head.

"Not how this works, puppy," Ghost shakes his head, stepping around the counter. He purposefully leaves a space open beside him, hoping the wolf will try and make a run for it. "These are Price's woods. If he wants to kill every fucking animal in them, he can. You don't like it, leave."

He snarls, head whipping side to side a bit like he'd like to lash out. He takes a step forward, glaring up at Ghost. "Oh yeah? Think it's that easy, jackass? I can't just find another fucking pack to join!"

Ghost tilts his head. "Let me guess, they don't want a pup who can't even carry his own weight?"

The scent of fear has disappeared, leaving just anger and stress in its wake. The boy's cheeks flush a lovely red, and his ears shift to stick straight in the air, pointing forward.

He's so close to snapping. Ghost licks his lips in anticipation, eager to see if fight or flight will win out.

The poor pup is stressed out of his mind, that much is clear. Even with his muscle he’s clearly been going hungry, and he can’t seem to decide what the right course of action is with Ghost antagonizing him like this.

Honestly, Ghost would usually let someone like him go without much fuss. Times are tough, and Price is has been weirdly stingy with the wildlife in the last decade or so. He should probably talk to him about it, but Kyle's always been better at getting what he wants out of the old grouch.

If this werewolf weren't such an amusement, he'd already be on his way. It's his own fault Ghost isn't going to let him go that easily.

"You fuckin' bastard! All you witchy-types are the same, you don't get how fuckin' miserable you make everyone else in the woods!"

Ghost pauses at that, a little shocked the pup assumes he's a witch. He's not, but he's also not offended. He's not going to dissuade him of the notion, either.

"An adult would learn to deal with it," Ghost taunts, leaning his torso closer. The wolf inches to the side, eyes darting to the front door. "But you're just a dumb pup, aren't you? Can't even figure out how to take care of yourself. Should I call your mum? See if she can sort you out?"

For some reason, that dig seems to be a step too far. The wolf's growl is loud as he lunges towards Ghost, feinting away at the last second and darting towards the door. He's on four legs before he hits the porch.

A smile stretches over Ghost's lips, and he cracks his neck as he strolls to the door. From his bag, he pulls out a collar and leash - Price's never-ending enchantment comes in handy once again. The wolf is slower than he'd expected and he seems to be favoring his back right paw. He'll be an easier prey to catch than Ghost had hoped.

Oh, well. There's always next time.

It takes very little effort to pin the pup to the ground. In only a few blinks, Ghost's on top of him, using his weight and momentum to send them both to the dirt and rolling until he's pinning the dog to the ground.

He gets one hand around the wolf's neck, forcing his head down while he gets the collar hooked around his neck. He spits and yowls like he's being tortured, but can't do much to fight with Ghost's entire body-weight over him.

It's easy to shift his hand to the tender spot between neck and shoulder, fingers searching, searching, searching.... there. With a cruel press, and a magical pop, there's a writhing boy beneath him instead of a wolf.

A forced change is never easy on a shifter, the wolf's face reflects that. His eyes are pinched shut, lips pushed out in a pout as his body squirms against the pain, small whines eeking from his lips.

"Quiet," Ghost rumbles, ruffling an ear. "It's gonna get a lot worse for you, puppy."

The collar fits him nicely in his human form - not so tight to choke him, not so loose it feels like a necklace. Ghost tugs the leash up to keep his head in the air as he forces the wolf to his feet, dragging him over to Price's fence while he's still reeling from the pain.

He forces the boy to bend over the fence, tying the rope around one of the fence posts with a knot complicated enough that no wiggly puppy fingers will be getting it undone anytime soon.

He's just pushing himself up as Ghost steps back, snarling as he tries to turn around. Ghost whistles sharply, making him freeze mid-turn.

"Stay." He commands, voice stern.

That sets the pup off more, and he tugs at the collar and leash as he turns and presses his back to the wood. "I'm not a fucking dog! Untie me you fuckin' asshole, this is bullshit-"

"Turn around," Ghost raises his voice to be heard over all the bitching. "Or I'll whip your front. That how you want this to play out?" He undoes his belt as he speaks, making it clear what's going to happen next.

The boy's face flames, and his struggles become more desperate. He doesn't shift - he won't be able to for at least another hour, but he doesn't even seem to be trying to.

"You think I'm just gonna stand here and let you whip me, you goddamn bastard? Fuck you! You're not gonna do shit to me, you bawbag, I'll-"

He's cut off, again, when Ghost whips his front. One long strike across his middle, horizontal. He yelps loudly, skittering back as much as he can. Ghost raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

"Odds are, a whipping to your front will injure you. Then we'll have to split this into two parts. That what you want? You turn around now, we get this over with in one session."

The boy's chest is heaving, and the stench of fear returns.

"You can't- why are you even doing this?"

Ghost tilts his head and adopts a condescending tone. "You're clearly not mature enough to handle an adult conversation. I think the only thing that'll get through your head is pain, puppy. Now turn around."

The real reason is that Ghost wants to paint the man black and blue then fuck him while he's screaming. A face that pretty is meant to be dripping in tears, and Ghost can't wait to make it happen.

The wolf takes a stabilizing breath, then turns. Wolves are a physical species, it's not unlikely he's been punished with pain at some point before. His alpha probably gave him a few of the scars decorating his back.

Ghost doesn't waste any time. He steps far enough away to cause real pain with each strike, but not so far that he can't appreciate the way the man's muscular back lights up red.

He doesn't make the wolf count, as much as he'd like to hear him struggle. Something tells him that might be the wolf's last straw, and Ghost doesn't particularly feel like dealing with a wolf gone half-feral from rage right now. He'd rather break the man down to tears of pain, not anger.

They're both silent throughout the punishment. The wolf manages to keep a shocking amount of composure considering how heavy handed Ghost is, but he's clearly struggling. His breaths are audible even from several feet away, and sweat drips down his back to make the strikes gleam in the sunlight.

He lasts about ten minutes under Ghost's belt before he whimpers for the first time.

"There ya go," Ghost hums when he hears it, snapping the belt across an already forming welt to hear the noise again. "Starting to sink in now, pup?"

He doesn't get a response, but that's alright. Ghost knows he's almost got the boy at his breaking point.

It comes about five minutes later, when a strike to his ass wraps low enough to glance off his balls. The wolf falls forward with a loud cry, limp and shaking against the fence.

Ghost finds himself nearly purring as he drops his belt to the ground, quickly moving to ease the man into the dirt. He's shivering in Ghost's arms, face pinched in pain.

"Took your punishment well, pup," Ghost praises, stroking a hand over the man's ribs. "Good boy."

"Jo-" the man grunts, pushing up to his elbows and knees. "Johnny, not pup."

"Johnny?" Ghost hums, leaning back to kneel behind the man. "Hm. Fits you. I think I like pup better, though."

It's a testament to how far gone he is that Johnny only whines instead of arguing.

"Hush. Your punishment's almost done. Just gotta take your fucking, and then we can all move on."

Johnny's head jerks up at that, looking over his shoulder as best he can. "Wait, what-?"

Ghost doesn't stretch him much. He keeps one hand beneath Johnny's body to keep his head tugged back down by the leash, and uses his others to stuff a few fingers into his hole.

He only gives him a bit of spit - he doubts Johnny is clean enough for him to lick. He lets it dribble from his lips and into the little hole, then begins stretching him.

It must sting something terrible, with the way that Johnny squirms. He's forced to keep his head against the ground, left pinned by just a leash.

"No, no, you can't-"

"Clearly I can," Ghost says meanly, shoving in a third finger just because he can. Johnny's a werewolf, he'll be perfectly fine in an hour or two. The pain is the point of the lesson.

"I don't want- stop, please dont... please, you can't..."

"You're not supposed to want it," Ghost says, letting his voice dip into a more comforting tone. "Punishment isn't meant to feel good for naughty pups. You just lay there and take it."

He spits into his palm when he pulls his fingers out, slicking up his cock as much as he can. It'll be a pain in his ass if Johnny tears, so he lubes himself up just enough to avoid that.

Johnny's squirming gets more vigorous when he feels Ghost line his cock up at his entrance, and he nearly manages to pull away.

Ghost growls at that, yanking the leash down far enough to grab and squeeze Johnny's heavy balls. "You keep up your wigglin' and I tie you leash to these. That what you want?"

He whines, shaking his head no. "No, sorry, I won't... I'll stop moving but please, please, you can't fuck me."

Ghost rolls his eyes and chooses to ignore that, instead sliding into the pup's warmth.

He feels good. Tight and hot and squeezing around the intrusion. He nearly wails beneath Ghost, body going limp at the pain. Ghost uses his free hand to turn Johnny's face to the side, so he can see the inevitable tears.

Sure enough, the waterworks start as Ghost finally bottoms out. He moans in sync with Johnny - one from pleasure and one from pain. The way the boy tightens beneath him is delicious, he's not sure he'll ever find a hole as good as this one.

He praises Johnny as he pulls out and fucks back into him.

"Good boy," he says on a moan. "Feel so fuckin' tight around me. Just wanna keep my cock deep in your guts, huh pup?"

"Nooo," Johnny hiccups, shoulders hitching.

"It's alright, you don't have to lie, Johnny. Your tight little hole's tellin' me all I need to know. Were you a virgin?" He grunts as he bottoms out again, quickly tugging out and snapping his hips back in. "Musta been, way you're grippin' me. Did I take your virginity, sweetheart?"

The hitched cries and tiny nod are enough answer for Ghost. Johnny just barely manages to tuck his hands beneath his face as Ghost starts to really work him over, free hand planted on the ground as he bullies his cock deep into Johnny.

"Might just have to keep you," he pants. "'S only right, huh? Mold you right to my cock, nothin'll ever feel like this again for you. Can't send you out into the world, hungry for somethin' you'll never find. That's what got you into this mess, isn't it?"

Johnny's not quite capable of speech anymore, just breathy little whines and moans. Ghost gives his cock a few strokes, grinning at the way Johnny's head jerks in time with the movements.

"Feel good yet, puppy? It will, don't worry. I'll teach you how good a fucking can feel, make sure you never forget. Make a space for myself right-" thrust "-here, huh puppy?"

The first time Ghost nails his prostate, it's like Johnny wakes back up. He rockets back up to his hands, back arching as he throws his head back despite the leash. He cries out loudly with his face thrown to the sky.

"Aw," Ghost breathlessly chuckles, angles himself to hit that spot on every thrust, raising his voice to be heard over Johnny's noise. "You howlin' for me, pup? Want everyone to know how good you're bein' fucked, huh?"

Johnny huffs, shakes his head like he hadn't realized what he was doing.

"No, no," Ghost rumbles, using the hand with the leash to tug Johnny's head back by resting his fist in the small of his back. Johnny is left with a beautiful arch to his neck, blinking up at the sky. "Keep goin', I wanna hear you, Johnny."

Seemingly against his own will, he does. His howls don't stop as Ghost fucks him - not when he comes from all the prostate stimulation, and not when Ghost himself paints his insides.

He lets the boy ease down to his chest again as they both pant through the aftershocks. He traces Johnny's rim with one finger, just barely slipping the tip in.

Johnny doesn't like that, whining high in his throat as he tries to jerk his hips away.

"Hush," Ghost soothes, petting the rim and forcing a second finger in, watching the rim of his hole go bloodless. "Thought you wolves liked a knot?"

That gets a sob, and finally, beautifully, Johnny shatters beneath him.

Ghost lets him cry himself out on his cock. occasionally cooing to him when his sobs get a little dramatic. He really must've been pent up with how long it takes him to come down.

He calms himself eventually, though, sobs petering off into pathetic little sniffles. That's when Ghost pulls both of his fingers and his limp dick out, rumbling low in his chest when Johnny cries out at the abscence.

"You're alright, calm down," he mutters, pushing himself back to rest on his ankles and then up to his feet, looking down at the pup.

Johnny looks good like this - naked in the dirt, sweat-slick and covered in welts, hole loose and dribbling come. He makes no effort to move and Ghost sighs loudly, nudging him with a boot.

"C'mon, pup. Your pity party's over. Time to go clean up your mess."

Johnny blinks blearily up at him, a little furrow between his brows. Ghost sighs again and ducks down, gripping him by the elbows and forcing him to his feet. He holds the man steady until he's sure he won't crumble, then grabs the leash and takes a few steps away.

"Let's go. Unless you want Price to wake up before you finish cleaning, I suggest you get a move on."

Johnny blinks dumbly at him, big wet eyes shining. Ghost's heart skips a beat.

"Come," he command, tugging until Johnny is forced to stumble forward. "Good boy. Now, heel."

Johnny - amazingly - listens without a fight, staying to the right of Ghost and one step behind.

Once there in the cabin, he's still fucked out enough to not complain. Ghost settles against the counter, sips on a cup of tea, and watches as Johnny cleans with shaky hands.

He looks good with a collar around his neck, and it's been a long few decades without any companionship.

Maybe, Ghost thinks to himself with a small smirk. It's time to get a dog.

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