#mandatory eepy post

Thinking about everyone on base being horrified by how secretary!reader talks to price....

How could they not? John price is a man to be respected if not feared. Even higher ranks than him know he's only still a captain because he prefers to get his hands dirty himself. No one wants to mess with a man like that.

Then there's....you. the new secretary.

"John. Your paperwork." You tell him every morning, dropping the files on the table in the mess hall without much thought. The first time you did it, people genuinely flinched.

No one calls captain price john.

You have no care or respect for his rank, treating price as a casual coworker and not the weapon he is. Always a "john. I want my vacation time approved by this weekend." Or "your breath smells like coffee, john. You want some gum?"

People are convinced price is planning to kill you. No other option when you keep blatantly disrespecting him.

Of course the team notices it too. Worse though when they notice you still call ghost "lieutenant" and kyle and soap "sergeant"

"Doesn't it bother you, sir? The blatant disrespect?" Kyle asks one night at the bar, after price had mentioned you again.

"bother me? Why the hell would it bother me?" Price snorts, takes a bite of the crisps from ghosts plate "My wife can call me whatever she wants."

...

......

"You're married?!"

Johnny's a freak, we know this yeah? So your a little confused when you come back from a solo mission and your room isn't smelling like his cum for once. When you see the scot he's far too giddy, you find out why the next day, all of your underwear, all of it, is either missing or stained with his cum.

No one mentions the smell when you have to wear them, they're all quite used to Johnny by now

No thoughts just wolf shifter!ghost who lost the ability to properly shifter due to injuries from roba...

Instead of shifting into a proper wolf, he becomes something...different, wrong. Limbs too long, torso bent at an odd angle. His fur is patchy and thin, tail wiry and ears too pointed. Ghost can't escape his disfigurement even in his other form, the one meant to bring comfort to him.

If ghost had it his way, he'd never shift again. Live his life as a human and pretend his wolf never clawed at his insides begging to be seen.

Unfortunately for ghost and his tendency to never address his emotions, shifters have to shift at least once a month to prevent hospitalization.

So, once a month, ghost drags himself deep into the forest outside of base.

Government property technically, least risk of being seen by civilians or gunned down by hunters. Under the moonless night, ghost becomes a twisted memory of a wolf. He stalks the ground, indulges in every instinct while stubbornly refusing to acknowledge his body.

Every stumble is just excitement, every wrong-sounding howl and bark just a weird echo. But when ghost finds his way to the river he loves, he also finds another shifter.

Another shifter like him.

A deer, at some point. But your fawn spots still paint your hide, your legs have too many bends in them, and antlers sprouts only from the right of your head. You, too, are a creature born of violence.

It is a silent agreement, what happens between you.

That night, two monsters follow eachother through the woods. For once, ghost finds himself play-bowing and chasing another creature again. He feels light, happy. Working his twisted muscles until you end up curled into his soft stomach, soft grass under you and polluted sky above.

Only in the morning will ghost learn that the terrible scarred thing in the woods is the shy archivist on base. The one who smiles at him when no one else will.

Now, he smiles back. You're his pack, after all.

People get genuinely concerned whenever ghost flirts with you in public, right?

Maybe it's the fact violence nurtured every moment of his life, maybe he's just a little twisted. Doesn't matter the reason when he looks your outfit up and down and grunts "you'd look good tied up in my basement in that, lovie."

Gaz and soap pause their conversation mid-flirt to cast equally judgemental looks at ghost. Price, who's met you plenty of times before, doesn't react when ghost hooks a finger into your belt-loops and tugs "blood stains wouldn't come out, either."

To the sergeants horror, you just smile at ghost and rest your arms over his shoulders like a love-sick fool. Gaz is about ready to ask if you've drank anything when you hum "yeah? Would you chase me through the woods?"

"For you, dove? I'd have a snare set up already. Herd you right to it." Ghost's arms around your waist, eyes soft when he pulls you closer. "You'd make a perfect, adorable victim."

Later, the bartender will try to get you alone and ask if you need help. You'll have the joy of watching her face fall into horror as you explain ghost is just flirting with his soon-to-be fiance.

Thinking about how ghost has this uncanny ability to settle babies right down...and yet he has no interest in having one of his own.

That doesn't stop him from knocking on your door while baby screams herself dry at 2am. He can block the noise easily, wouldn't be where he is if he couldn't, but he knows your upstairs neighbor will submit a complaint.

"Ah, sorry for keeping you awake simo–" you mumble, tired when you answer the door. Bags under your eyes, formula on your shirt.

"No. You go sit down. Where is she?" Ghost huffs, squeezing past you through the door. Despite the question, he's already bee-lining to your room, where baby's crying carries through the entire apartment.

"I don't know what's wrong. She's not hungry, not gassy. Won't cuddle, won't suck her paci–" you trail off, dazedly watching simon gently cradle your little girl in his arms and have her settled in mere minutes. "...what."

Your baby, who's made it her life's mission to scream nearly every night, is curling chubby fingers into ghosts hoodie and humming all happy.

"Just needed my jacket, I think. Picky girl," ghost hums fondly, tucking her whole tiny body into one arm. With the other, he steers you towards your bed. "You need to sleep. I'll get her handled, okay?"

Anyone else would say that you're crazy for letting a man you aren't dating or married to be alone in your apartment with your kid. To which you would tell them about how he pulled you out of your darkest moments while trying to parent alone. How he never judges you. How he wants nothing but the best for your little girl.

So you nod, yawn and settle down. "Okay...thank you, simon."

In the morning, baby will be back in her crib snuggled up tight, and ghost will have left a hot jug of coffee on your counter.

Thinking about ghost's baby who always wants a bite of other peoples food.

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.

...yet the guys wonder why you're the only one with babysitting privileges.

Sheep hybrid!ghost who hates his hybrid side, despises being such a weak domestic animal.

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!!"

...if ghost spends his whole day with his nose tucked into the scarf, wondering if being a sheep is so bad...that's his business.

Thinking about ghost who would literally eat anything and picky eater!reader...

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.

You realize you've never been able to eat freely with another person before. It's...really nice.