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Summary
Bottom Ghost Week Day 4 Prompts: Shibari, Daddy Kink, Omegaverse, Virginity Kink, Power Imbalance
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It happens when a mission goes tits up, because of course it does. Him and Ghost in a basement with too many things beeping and too many beakers lying around and a big something-or-other that is sending out sparks he doesn’t want to get anywhere near.
Which of course they do.
When he comes to, it’s to a man’s boot on his chest, looking up into a dizzy silhouette. For a second, he thinks it’s Price, even though that doesn’t make any sense. Then, he speaks.
“Och. Certainly a sight.”
Off to the side, another voice, “Cap. This one’s comin’ ‘round.”
The shape over him turns his head, glancing over at something, “Mask’s a damn sight more impressive than yers.”
“Get fucked sir.”
Series
- Part 4 of Noc’s Bottom Ghost Week 2025 Days
- Part 12 of Noc’s Military Propaganda
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“Do you yield?” Price snarls.
Ghost could keep fighting and he knows that Price wouldn’t relent, knows he’d keep him held down and that if Ghost still struggled, he’d push his arm further and further until it did dislocate.
It wouldn’t stop Price either, he'd get one whiff of Ghost’s pain and it’d only make him harder, because Price is a freak who hates smelling pain on Ghost unless he's the one causing it. Price would fuck Ghost into the mattress with one arm flopping useless and he’d growl in satisfaction when every thrust flared sharp agony at Ghost’s shoulder.
Ghost has to hold back a groan at the thought.
He’d never claimed to be normal either, it's why he and Price fit so well, why they’d never particularly cared about getting any sweet-smelling omega under them—
Well, until recently that is.
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Bottom Ghost Week Day 7: Muzzles, Sex Toys, Kneeling, Nipple Play, Stuck in Wall
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He comes to himself flat on his stomach, hands trapped at his sides, his legs hanging loose, bent at just the wrong angle to get any ground when he tries to move. All is dark before him and when he tries to shout, to make a noise, he’s muffled, something around quieting him, something between his teeth and digging into his head. He wriggles, trying to get enough leverage to get himself up into a sitting position, only to freeze when something, someone, settles a hand on his ass.
There’s voices suddenly, barely audible, indecipherable. He tries to yell but no one responds, not with whatever is between them and whatever is in his mouth. Squirming gets no reaction as well, though he hears something like a laugh at how his bare feet scramble for purchase against the ground. The hand on his ass pets him, soothing, and another slips into the trembling grasp of his own, waiting for a squeeze. When he gives it, tight and hard, both pull away. He tries to shout again, trying to prevent them from leaving, only for a the sound to stop as a sharp pain suddenly strikes through him.
Fuckers just spanked him.
Series
- Part 7 of Noc’s Bottom Ghost Week 2025 Days
- Part 15 of Noc’s Military Propaganda
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Summary
Bottom Ghost Week Day 6: Somnophilia, Free Use, Voyeurism, Public Sex
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Not everyone knows. Not everyone sees the mask—older, threadbare, stitched together along one side with blood red thread and missing a hardplate—and knows what it means. Most just think it’s part of his rotation, one of his many many masks, and in some respects that’s true.
But some know exactly why that is.
He brings it to a meeting the afternoon previous to his plans, listening to the rest of the 141 bitch and gripe about tomorrow’s visiting teams, about having to play nice with both friends and enemies for the sake of some chest candy Generals and their ideas of teamwork. It’s awhile before they notice him fiddling with the wornout sockets of the imprinted skull, falling silent one by one as he traces a finger along the threaded stitch.
Series
- Part 6 of Noc’s Bottom Ghost Week 2025 Days
- Part 14 of Noc’s Military Propaganda
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The first one to spot the toy is Price. The first one to use it is Gaz.
It goes like this: the 141’s been officially moved into a unit barracks together, individual bedrooms circling a commons with a reasonably-sized bathroom and what could charitably be called a kitchen if you were looking at it sideways. Separate enough from the main barracks and officer’s quarters to be technically private, but definitely more aiming to separate them just that bit more from the usual riff-raff, give them that extra edge of deniability. Not that they mind, those of them that socialize manage to do it plenty besides, and the ones of them that don’t appreciate having a place to sit quietly without interruption.
So when Price first sees the thick tube sitting on the coffee table as he preps for the morning, plastic and shiny and with a little clear strip down the side to see the soft pink insides, he assumes one of his Sergeants was having a little fun the night previous and forgot to clean up after. It’s a pleasant thought to be sure, one he’ll consider for the rest of the day, so he leaves it be.
Series
- Part 16 of Noc’s Military Propaganda
Bookmarked by Sinful_Librarian
27 Jan 2026
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Bookmarker's Notes
Price, holy fuck