rowdy pup reader x handlers price & ghost?
thinking about puppy y/n, though not the whimpering, submissive, pawing-at-affection kind. the kind who is an overeager young pup, snapping at heels and barking at anyone who breathed their way wrong, who needs a little hands-on training to be reined in.
y/n, who has consistently gotten into fights with both their peers. y/n, who is entirely too eager to do training courses and expend their restless energy. y/n, who bristles at being ordered around but gets an insatiable, determined glint in their eyes every single time they are given a task to do.
eventually, price, dog person that he is, starts training you like one. maybe he doesn't even realize it at first, too focused on dragging you back by the scruff after almost tackling sergeant mactavish for cracking a little joke about being a border collie, but eventually he realizes it's not an inaccurate assessment.
so he starts praising you for successfully completed tasks. when you're dragging your feet, he offers to smuggle you your favorite MREs. it works better than expected, he thinks, when you preen, a little pridefully, at his "good drill, soldier."
eventually, the others start noticing too. it's ghost, at first—he'd been wary of your placement as their rookie in the first place, keeping a close eye on you. he'd been harder on you at first, expectedly ticked off at your reckless impulsivity. but now...
now, he finds himself reprimanding you with a stern bark of, "down, soldier!". when you're agitated, spouting provocations during downtime, mind running a little too wild, he only ignores you. only snaps when you get a little too bitey.
eventually, they wrangle you into something less untrained, yipping pup and into a half-trained guard dog.
you, for all your actual intelligence, has not quite realized what was going on. you were too busy enjoying the MREs and protein bars price has inconspicuously given you as rewards, much to the amusement of gaz and soap.
yet, when price pats you on the back with a gruff "good dog," and ghost closes his rough, calloused hand on your nape and growls a low "don't make me collar you, mutt," you feel a fuzzy, intoxicating satisfaction take hold of your mind. maybe you'll make it here after all.
