skull.

When Johnny first started bragging about his new missus to the team, Simon didn't think much of it.

With Soap, new girls came and went. This one shouldn't have been any different. That should've been the end of it.

Simon couldn't have given less of a shit.

But this one seemed different.

____ always looked so unhappy around Johnny.

Like the first time Simon met her.

Johnny had introduced her as his girl.

Few drinks later, she gently tugged at Soap's sleeve as the music changed.

"One dance?" Johnny didn't even look at her.

"Nah. Not in the mood, doll."

Simon simply watched from the other side of the room. He wasn't the dancing type either.

Hell. He'd probably step on her feet every ten seconds.

But if dancing meant wiping that sad little look off her face…

He would've become fucking Michael Jackson.

She'd visit the base every now and then just to make sure Johnny had properly eaten.

Always carrying a bento box.

Rice. Meat. Vegetables.

Enough food to feed half the bloody task force.

Sometimes she'd bring sweets for the whole team, too.

The moment she left, Johnny popped the lid open.

"Tch. Don't like this."

Without a second thought, he shoved the whole thing across the table.

"Anyone wants it?" Simon frowned.

The fuck?!

Simon would never do that.

Never.

If she had made that lunch for him…

He would've eaten every last grain of rice.

Hell, he'd lick the damn container clean before letting somebody else touch it.

Days kept passing, and Johnny kept running his fucking mouth.

Complaining.

Rolling his eyes whenever her name came up.

Like loving her was somehow an inconvenience.

How she wanted to dance.

How she always worried if he'd eaten.

How she texted him good morning every single day.

Then came the night at the bar.

Simon hadn't meant to look. Johnny didn't care enough to hide it.

One hand around another woman's waist.

Then..

...a kiss.

What the fuck was wrong with him?!

How could anybody cheat on such a perfect bird like ____?

If she were his… He would've thanked every God willing to listen just for letting her choose him.

Still. As furious as it made him…

That wasn't what finally broke him.

It happened back at base.

Johnny started talking about his first time with the missus.

"She's always asking for kisses. Wants hugs all the bloody time." The whole room laughed. Simon looked up from the paperwork in front of him.

"And don't even get me started on sex. She keeps trying to make it all romantic while I'm just trying to stick it in—" Johnny never got to finish that sentence.

The lieutenant's fist broke his nose before anyone even realized he'd moved.

"THE FUCK, RILEY?!" Blood poured down Johnny's face while he stumbled back, holding his nose. The room fell dead silent.

"I'm taking the missus away from you."

"You what?"

"Heard me."

Without another word, he turned around and walked out of the base.

Somehow, he ended up standing outside their apartment.

He wasn't even sure how he'd gotten there.

He just knew he'd started driving.

Now he was here.

"Oh… You're Johnny's teammate, right?" She smiled politely.

"…Yeah."

"What brings you he—"

"You know he's cheating."

Her smile faded.

"You already knew. You're not stupid." She didn´t answer. Didn´t have to.

Simon clenched his jaw.

"…Take me instead." She blinked.

"…Excuse me?"

"Take me instead of that fucking asshole."

"You don't even know me."

"I know enough." She looked away.

"I'd treat you better. The way you deserve." She turned to stare at him.

"…Why?"

For the first time that night… Simon hesitated.

Then he didn´t.

"I'd never make you beg."

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

He spends years keeping his hybrid side locked up tight, suppressing his herd instincts and keeping his wool-hair shorn to the root. Ghost hasn't vocalized since roba, everyone believes him to be human. The perks of being low-presenting, it seems.

Then you transfer onto base, a sheep hybrid who makes no effort to hide that fact.

For a while, ghost staunchly avoids you. He doesn't like the way his instincts start screaming about the flock just because a fellow sheep is nearby.

You must smell it on him, because you're constantly trying to talk to ghost. Tail wagging, fluffy ears twitching when you catch him in the hallway. Always followed by a dopey smile.

The thing that really catches ghosts attention is your wool. Thick and grown-out, you wear your wool with pride. It turns you all soft and round edges. Secretly, ghost likes your wool. He stares at you across rooms when your back is turned, wondering if his own wool would ever be that long.

Only for you to come back from leave with practically zero wool.

For a startling, horrified moment ghost convinces himself he somehow convinced you to hide your wool with all his staring. You smile at ghost, all starry-eyed and soft. "I made you something, sir."

From your bag you pull a long wool scarf.

It's clearly made from your wool, still smells of you. You bahh happily as you wrap it around his head and next, creating a sort of impromptu wool coat of his own "now we match!!"

It started off with Johnny noticing how Simon’s gaze often lingered on you, the newest truck loader.

Then he blabbered it off to the entire team. So yeah— Simon may have banged his head against the wall in his quarters and slept that night thinking about choking Johnny.

But here he was, after a long day of being convinced to talk to you.

You had just finished unloading the last truck of the day and what better time to talk to you than now?

“You gotta be confident and bold with your words, L.T.” Kyle’s words.

“No, you have t’ be funny. Make ‘em laugh.” Johnny’s words.

“If all things fail, just ask ‘em for coffee.” John’s words.

Simon took in a deep breath and smiled (the best he could. He doesn’t smile often). You didn’t even catch it either; he was wearing his damn balaclava. “You just started working, yeah?” he asks, stuffing his hands into his vest. Confident, check.

You took off your gloves and patted your sweaty forehead with your arm, “mhm! About two-ish months ago,” you tell the older man, giving him a polite smile.

A quiet hum fell from Simon’s lips as he rocks on his heels a bit, “Once saw y’ trippin’ over a box,” Simon says bluntly. Funny, check.

You stared at him, blinking twice and half expecting him to finish his sentence.

He didn’t.

Instead, the two of you had a staring contest while Simon’s face burned behind the balaclava.

“You can trip on me,” Simon suddenly adds. Funny and bold… check?

Your brows knitted a bit, “what…?” you ask with an awkward laugh.

Fuck.

This wasn’t going how he imagined it to go. He imagined him coolly leaning against a wall or something while complimenting you.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Do you have coffee?” Simon changes the topic, his entire face blowing up with steam.

Off to the side, John stared at his teammate with a heavy sigh and rubbed his temple. “Bloody idiot asked for coffee,” he mumbles.

Kyle shrugs a bit, “T’ be fair, you did say to ask for coffee,” he says, defending his lieutenant.

Of course, that was back when you were a pup, small and soft and easy to love.

Nowadays, you're nothing anyone wants to cuddle. A giant anatolian shepherd, you can remember clearly the day your mom told you the weight was too much, and you'd simply have to curl by her feet. Age has changed you just as war has.

No one wants to hold you, too big and awkward to fit in anyone's lap.

That is, until you meet ghost, your new lieutenant. A giant of a man, even in your human form he easily outclasses you. Of course, ghost has worked with plenty of shifters before, killed plenty too, he knows exactly how to read your body language.

Meaning it almost takes you off guard after a bad mission when he drops a heavy hand on the back of your neck like he's scruffing a pup, grunting "with me, runt."

"Go on, shift." He orders you in the recroom he just locked that you're pretty sure he shouldn't have keys for. Maybe you see him a bit as a pack leader, so you shift without asking why.

Only for him to bodily haul you onto his lap, entire couch sagging with the weight of you both. He doesn't groan about how big you are, or how your claws dig into his jeans.

He only cards two hands into your fur and gently scratches until you let your mind really sink into it.

You never thought you’d know, thought you’d keep living until the cruelty of the world crumbled in on itself, dragging you along with it. Now, you’d say you knew your answer.

Life felt- fuzzy. Like the harsh lines of reality fizzing out into blurred messes. You don’t know how it happed, maybe the weight of the world had finally gotten to you, maybe death himself though you suffered enough.

Johnny was holding you, his voice was far, but you knew those hands, the ones that held you when you spiraled. Your ears rang, you couldn’t hear what he was saying.

Simon hand was placed firm on your chest, warmth spreading over you, seeping in where you were now starting to go cold. His eyes a blue blur looking into yours.

Kyle was yelling over coms, probably yelling for a heli or a medic- or both. You could imagine that worried face if his, brows furrowed together, teeth chewing on the inside of his cheek.

John- he stood, kept a lockout to make sure no one gets close while in this vulnerable position. But you knew it so he wouldn’t have to look at you. That promise you made back, the one where you said “I’d never leave- I’ll probably be here until you guys die”, it replayed in his head.

Its weird, where you always immortal or just lived longer? Maybe that was a question for later- you knew there wasn’t a later.

Everything seemed softer now, your hand found Simon’s, your hazy eyes landed on Johnnys. You whispered something, maybe your final words, maybe a half hearted prayer to whoever was listening.

Kyle picked it up, the one he would say before missions. You could feel yourself slipping, like the world around you was pushing you away. This was death.

You weren’t scared. You had held others while they pass, you never knew if it helped- but this feels like it did.

“You all make me wish I would live longer…”

Your eyes glossed over, whatever light was left in you finally went out. You voice faded out, carried by the wind.

You had told John you liked the trees, maybe this was his way of making it up to you. The hole was deep, near a base of a tall old oak.

You wore johnny’s hoodie, Kyle hat strapped snugly to your head, one of Simon’s masks folded in your hand, and one of John’s nicest cigars.

Without fail, whenever anyone decides to eat around baby regardless of what the food actually is, tiny hands are waving in the air asking for some. Without fail, ghost has to gently try and redirect baby in a way that won't induce tears because

Because baby cries over clouds going away and random rocks...this always leads to fat tears and ghost glaring at the perpetrators.

He's about ready to bite you when you, in the middle of chatting with him in the porch, pull out your lunchbox. Sure, you always eat lunch with him on the porch, but baby's had a rough day and you know how baby gets.

Various fruits, some granola, a sandwich. Nothing special, but baby uncurls from his chest to blink curiously at the meal.

"...ahhh. ahb. Ahhh." Baby huffs, tiny fingers spread out and making grabby-hands, nearly toppling out of ghosts arms when he leans further.

"Aw, want a bite?" You ask baby, already pulling out a second container from you lunch, "here, have some. Yeah?"

Baby squeals in delight when you give him a slice of banana, round cheeks red and eyes squinted at his victory.

You...you packed food, just in case baby wanted some.

From there it's like a game. Making a big show of grabbing something "random" from your plate for baby to eat. Every single time baby loves it.

No once does baby cry when you eat around him, always armed with a smaller baby-safe version.

Vs

John "if yer not lookin' for marriage don't date me, love." Price who maybe falls in love too fast, but he always treats you with respect. Makes his intentions known from the start, he's too old to play around and be coy when he could be waking up next to you every morning. A real gentleman, the kind that puts previous boyfriends to shame.

Shocking, considering the guy wears a Halloween decoration everyday, but he hates all the social interaction. Strangers knocking on his door, begging for sweets. He'd rather decorate for a day or two, enjoy his night alone, and call it a day.

So why is he going all-out to try and attract the most trick-or-treaters this year?

Because you're participating this year. You, the single parent across the street who he maybe-kinda wants to invite on a date but hasn't figured out how yet. Thus...decorating. anything to get a conversation started, right?

"Alright sweetie, go ahead and knock," ghost hears your voice across the door. He's been hovering since he spotted you and your daughter three houses down. Three knocks, and he opens the door–

"Trick or treat!!! Guess what I am!!" Your little one squeals, holding her bucket decorated like an acorn up to him.

"Sweetie, you need to wait for treats first–" you try to tell her, knowing she'll get tok disappointed and forget to get candy if the stranger can't guess.

Ghost takes one look at her and nods "proper weevil, innit. Good costume, kid."

"Yes!!! Yes I'm a weevil! You got it right!!" She yells, hopping in place in pure joy, cheeks no-doubt hurting from the force of her smile. Finally, she looks around at his house, then back up at you "can I go look at the big skeleton?"

"Yes, yes, go ahead." You smile at her, checking that no one's waiting. Thin about having little ones is you always beat the Halloween rush. Then, you smile at ghost "thank you. No one's been able to guess her costume, and she was about ready to quit."

"'S a good costume," ghost nods to himself, "she a fan of bugs?"

"Oh, it's all she talks about!" You laugh, that fond laugh all parents have for their children "she's in love with all things crawly."

"....oi've got beetles, if she wants to see 'em."

Which is how a bowl with a hastily scrawled "take one" is left on the porch, meanwhile your daughter is about ready to explode when ghost lets her hold Betty, his Hercules beetle.

"You wouldn't mind if she comes back, would you?" You whisper, both of you stood back while she stares in awe at his centipede enclosure "you're the first person able to keep up with her bug talk."

Of course, ghost first realized how bad your eating habits are while out getting dinner with you. Yes, dinner, a small payback-maybe-date after he rescued you from your broken down car at 3am.

"Uhm...I'll just have the chicken tenders. From the kids menu, please." You refuse to make eye contact with the waiter or ghost, stomach twisting that none of the more adult options were anything you liked.

You braces for the comments from ghost, having heard plenty from his teammates. Gaz snorting about what he's dubbed "your one vegetable a month" whenever he sees the only sub you eat lettuce with. Soap, too, makes comments about how you should try home-cooked meals instead of your store bought meals. Even price has chuckled about "dessert for lunch again, love?" When literally all you could stomach that week was sweets.

When you doesn't comment, you stubbornly stay staring at your hands "I know it's embarrassing eating with me...sorry."

"Wot? Yer eating, aren't you?" Ghost raises his brow at you, shoveling another giant onion ring into his mouth. "Not my fuckin' issue. If you don't want it, give it to me."

And...really you should have expected this.

Ghost, the man who lived on literal scraps in his childhood, who ate everything he was given because he had no choice. Of course he wouldn't care what you eat, so long as you eat.

"Oh...uhm." You're not sure what to say. You're used to always feeling some level of embarrassment about your diet. "Thank...you."

One dinner turns to two, turns to shared lunches and weekend brunches. You gravitate towards ghost because he doesn't care about your eating habits. If you order something and find it tastes different than expected, ghost will happily devour your dish while you ask about crisps.

Suddenly, the entirety of the population is searching for you everywhere because it's hell until you're found. Farmers stop farming, cooks stop cooking and inventors stop inventing. Everyone is forced to join the search.

All of them as a collective feel bad for you of course, but not enough to stop them from hating you. As much as they'd like to deny how trapped it must feel to constantly be under their control, it's still a much better life than most of the normal people. You've never had to touch a broom since you've stepped foot in the palace.

How dare you? You must feel really proud to make the people be forced into a manhunt for you, huh?

When they find you, everyone's furious.

Without fail, the horror on your face followed by a gasped "what the fuck, ghost!?" Has him chuckling to himself.

"Loose spinach!! Cantaloupe in the same thing– is that raw meat?!! Ghost–!" You ramble on, scandalized by the thing he calls a meal.

it's hard enough being a bug hybrid, many people have certain prejudice against you as-is, but as a hybrid with a "pest" counter-part? you're no stranger to rude and downright mean comments even from peers.

Which is why you're absolutely dumbfounded by ghost of all people approaching you out of nowhere to ask "can I take you on a date?"

You should know better, having been the victim of many 'pranks' in your youth, but something about the open way he says it has you hesitantly agreeing. He's attractive, funny, hopefully nice...it seems like a good idea.

Only for you to end up at a salad bar with a bowl full of leafy greens and fruits while ghost eagerly watches with an untouched plate. He smiles, pushes more towards you "don't be shy, lovie, eat up."

Sure, it's really weird, but not once has he made fun of your antennae or your mouthparts or anything....it's almost...nice?

"Can i try some of your honeydew?" Ghost blurts out in front of your apartment after an eerily silent car ride.

For a second, you're convinced he's joking. You've never met anyone who likes aphid hybrid honeydew, no one. Most don't know what it is. Those piercing brown eyes stay fixed on you unblinkingly, dead serious.

You've never been good at managing impulse, so you chitter happily and tug ghost inside.

"It'll be okay, sweetpea, just be strong for dada, okay?" He rumbles, baby tucked to his chest in the exam room. She's so small and excited, wide eyes taking in the new room, no idea what's about to happen.

But price does, and it tears him up inside.

The nurse has the needle out, and price has to fight the urge to tuck his little girl against his chest and hide her away. Instead, he nods with his face already red in upset and forces out "okay. Do it."

The reaction is instant, baby's hands curling into fists and face twisting with a cry. Wet, innocent eyes turning to stare at her papa as if asking why he did that to her.

The rest of the day, price is inseparable with her.

Keeps her cuddled up in his arms or right in front of him, eye's glassy with remorse. Even when you point out how your daughter has clearly moved on, smashing her toy trains together, he just furrows his brows.

Maybe this was the first reminder.

That some thing's he can never protect from pain. Not even his daughter. Not even you.

When he comes home to an empty house, gutted and trashed with bullet holes in the plaster and no signs of you or his kid, he will think of that exam room.

The room was quiet, dimly lit by the orange glow of the streetlamp leaking through the curtains. Rain tapped softly against the windows while the TV played some movie neither of you were actually paying attention to anymore.

Iwaizumi laid back against the couch with you curled against his side, your head tucked beneath his chin while one of his hands lazily rubbed up and down your arm.

You’d fallen asleep maybe twenty minutes ago.

He knew because your grip on his hoodie had loosened, your breathing evening out into something soft and steady. He smiled to himself, glancing down at you for a second.

Cute. Way too cute.

He looked back toward the TV, completely relaxed until he suddenly felt something soft press against his jaw.

Iwaizumi froze.

His eyes immediately darted downward.

You were still asleep against him.

“…What?”

Before he could even process it, your lips brushed against his cheek this time. A tiny sleepy kiss, absentminded and gentle, like you didn’t even realize you were doing it.

His entire body locked up.

Slowly, he looked around the empty living room like someone else had seen that.

Then he looked back down at you with wide eyes.

“Did you just—”

Another kiss.

This one landed near the corner of his mouth.

His face immediately started heating up.

You didn’t react afterward, just snuggled closer into his chest with a quiet sigh, still fully asleep.

Iwaizumi stared at you in complete disbelief.

You kissed him all the time when you were awake—walking past him in the kitchen, sitting next to him on campus, literally whenever you felt affectionate—but this?

This was new, and somehow worse.

Because you weren’t even conscious.

A few seconds passed before you shifted again, pressing one more sleepy kiss directly onto his lips.

Iwaizumi’s brain completely short-circuited.

His breath caught so suddenly he almost choked on it.

“…No way,” he whispered, staring at you like you’d just done something illegal.

Meanwhile you only frowned slightly in your sleep, mumbling something incoherent before burying your face into his chest again.

Like nothing happened.

His heart was pounding embarrassingly hard now, ears burning red while he sat there stiff as a board, one hand hovering awkwardly over your back because he genuinely didn’t know what to do with himself.

You kissed him again.

Tiny. Quick. Sleepy.

And that was what finally broke him.

A helpless grin spread across his face as he dropped his head back against the couch with a quiet groan. “You’re seriously doing this unconsciously?”

You only cuddled closer in response.

Iwaizumi looked down at you again, expression softening almost immediately despite the violent beating of his heart.

Yeah. He was completely done for.

You had seen so much carnage and destruction, so many lives lost, death following you everywhere you go- you started wondering if you yourself was death.

After a few millennia, you stopped thinking that- well, often anyway. You knew all things may come to an end, everything returned to the earth eventually.

The one joys you did had, where the trees. An odd thing to say, yes, but you had your reason. You had seen a small forest, barely a few acres big. Before you knew it, it had grown the size of a city, the tops reaching farther than the sky.

Maybe that’s why you where digging this hole, maybe it was because the trees had seen as much as you had, maybe it was because they knew to many secrets they could never speak of like you.

Maybe a small part of you, the last shred of humanity you still managed to hold onto, placed there belongs there.

Ghost mask, sure it was blood stained with battle and war, but it was still his. Still wore it when he was soft, when he was vulnerable, when he let himself be human.

Soaps favorite hoodie, the one he wore when he spared, when he was on base and relaxed, the one he had on when was more settled down, when he could be calm and grounded.

Gazes cap, the one her wore everywhere and seemed to always have a spare when he loses the previous, the one he would place on others head to help ground them after a brutal op, let them know he was there.

Prices cigars, the one he would smoke anytime he was able to, the warm musky tobacco smell sticking to everything that come in contact with the smoke, how it stuck to his clothes and somehow everyone else’s.

You added there dog tags as well, you couldn’t hold on to them, you can’t hold onto anything- they wound understand. You hoped that like everything else, there memory wouldn’t fade. The dirt would hold them, the trees would keep there voices and memories alive in them.