Prompt: The 141 are put in a safehouse right across from your farm.
This far out of the city, you don't often see new faces. You live out on a sprawling orchard, miles from the nearest city, with only your grazing cattle and a few friendly goats as company on lonely nights.
A week ago, your new neighbors moved in.
Today, you stand on their porch, bright and early, anxiously shifting your weight and a pie dish back and forth. Cinnamon dust stains your knuckles, evidence of your rigorous baking from that morning.
Worried, you start to wonder if this is too forward. But, before you can doubt yourself for much longer, the door opens.
A man who looked less like a neighbor and more like a wall of granite answered. His shoulders were wide enough to block any view inside the house and he stared down at you with a deeply furrowed, upset brow.
Standing there in flour-stained overalls with a plaid pie dish, you suddenly felt very silly. Heat crept up your neck. "Hello, neighbor! I, uh, I live next door." You turned to show him the direction of your cottage, pointing out the orchard that crept toward their property.
When you looked back, his dark eyes were still glued on you.
You raised the pie dish with a smile, hoping to dissuade some of the tension. The rich scent of baked goods floated upwards. "It's apple! I picked them myself."
He didn't budge. His arms crossed over his chest, biceps straining against the sleeves of his shirt. Scars littered the pale skin.
"Is this a bad time? I can-"
"Who is it?" A new voice called, the only warning before another man came crashing into the first. He looked far more relaxed, expression bright with curiosity when he spotted you. "Simon, who's your friend?"
"A neighbor," the statue rumbled.
"A pretty neighbor." The second man shoved Simon aside, entering your center view. "Am I dreaming, or is there really a bonnie lass standing on our porch with a pie?"
"It's, uh, apple." You repeated, far dumber than before.
"And I'm Johnny." His toothy grin was sharp, loving the way your head had to tilt up to follow as he stepped closer.
A red blush smeared across your face. You quickly nudged the pie dish into his hands before your clammy hands could drop it.
"Want to come in and share a slice with me?"
"Oh! Uh..."
"Johnny." Simon warned, a heavy hand landing on Johnny's shoulder.
"No, that's okay!" You squeaked, stepping back, "I don't want to intrude."
"Aw, c'mon, don't be shy-"
The porch creaked behind you. Before you heard his voice, you felt his presence:
"Who are you?"
You whipped around, finding yourself nose-to-chest with an older man. He was just as large and imposing as the other two.
You peeled yourself off of his chest, mortified and even redder than before. "I'm so sorry- I was just-"
"Is that a pie?" Another man. Dear God, it's like you walked into a nest of them.
"Sure is. Thanks to this heaven sent, right here." Johnny winked at you.
The newest man, face obscured by a baseball cap, leaned over Johnny to smell the pie dish. He moaned, loud and explicit.
"Need a moment alone, Kyle?" Simon quips.
Kyle sticks his finger into the crust, scooping up some of the cinnnamon goo.
"Oi! Wash your hands first." Johnny shoves him away, holding the dish up high.
Noticing your distress at the commotion, the older man steps aside, out of your way. He holds out an arm as an offering.
You wipe your hands on your denim overalls before shyly accepting it. He helps you down the rickety porch stairs while you try and fail not to marvel at the size of his bicep.
It's clear that he had been working outside. Oddly enough, you enjoy the weathered smell of sun and sweat that clings to him.
"You up there, across the road?" He asks.
You nod. "I am! Those are my cows. Real sweet, if you ever want to say hello."
"I can see where they would get it from."
When he turns to face you, you're shocked to see him smiling.
He takes the hat off his head, holding it to his chest. "I'm John. It was nice to meet you."
It's polite, but you see right through it. These men are going to be nothing but trouble.
MDNI: Fauxcest, bathroom sex in public, yummy yum dad bod, breeding kink, exhibition?, hints of dacryphilia, praise, choking
Dadbf! John Price that you met at a bar, while he was there to celebrate a successful mission with his task force.
Dadbf! John Price who immediately knew that he needed you, even if it was only for one night.
Dadbf! John Price that kept touching your waist and pulling you between his thighs at the bar, at one point pulled you down to sit on his thick and muscular thigh.
Reader that felt every flex of his thigh underneath her and soaked her lace panties, as she squirmed in his lap.
Dadbf! John Price who immediately noticed every physical reaction you had and pulled your back flush against his chest. His fat and soft stomach was pressing against you perfectly as he moved your hips on his thigh.
Dadbf! John Price who couldn’t wait for the night to end and dragged you into the bathroom in the bar, that was dimly lit and small.
Dadbf! John Price that pulled your skirt until it was bunched around your hips and slid right into your tight and warm heat, with his chubbed and sensitive cock. He dragged his thick cock along your fluttering walls, effortlessly hitting your g- spot.
Dadbf! John that gripped your neck, your tits and everywhere he could as he made you look at yourself getting fucked. Dadbf! John Price made you cum hard around his cock, absolutely soaking yourself and him as he filled his little girl up and watched her cry.
Dadbf! John Price "You like getting fucked by your dad? Ohh look at that, so tight and wet for me. Atta girl, make your dad fill you up real good. Gotta make sure my little girl is aaall full and won‘t leave."
One, the unfamiliarity of it takes some brain power away from spiraling and instead puts it to absorbing new inputs.
Two, makes you overwhelmed in a different way from the new inputs.
"You want a jacket?" Simon asks as he closes the back door behind you. You shake your head. You're already feel a bit clammy from the anxiety and don't feel like putting something warmer on over top of it.
The back of the house is spacious. A wide open space sprawls from the house where its bordered by thick forest. The very peaks of snowy mountaintops peek over the top of the pines. The sun rises to your left, the late morning light casting long shadows in an otherwise blue sky.
Like with most other places you've visited on your trip, it's very quiet. The forest absorbs sound, leaving you feeling like you're in a sound booth. So quiet you feel like you have to whisper.
Simon stands silently next to you, letting you just get your bearings and your mind wander from thought to thought.
"Why Alaska?" you blurt, breaking the morning quiet. Simon lets the question settle.
"Why not?"
When you look at him he's already looking back down to you. There's nothing in his eyes that tell you much about how he feels about the question other than a faint curiosity flickering in their depths.
"Well—I don't know," you shrug. "Just seems like a long ways from home."
His head tilts. "Where's home?"
You can't tell if he's being rhetorical. "Aren't you British?"
"What gave it away?"
You roll your eyes at the amusement in his. "Never mind."
Simon scans the forest, letting the brisk air fill the space where the conversation was.
"It was part choice, part not," he finally says, taking you by surprise that he's actually going to answer your question.
"Why would it not be a choice?"
"Our jobs."
At the lack of further explanation you take the chance and keep wheedling him for information. You try to think about the kind of jobs that would bring a group of incredibly fit guys from the UK to the middle of nowhere Alaska.
"Do you, like, work on oil rigs or something?" The guess feels wrong as soon as you say it and the way Simon's eyes get the way they do when he's amused tells you it is.
"Military, technically."
Makes sense, you suppose. There is a military base the closest city over, but that doesn't mean all that much. It's an American base, besides. But considering you know jackshit about how the military works, that could be normal.
"That 'technically' is doing a lot of heavy lifting in that sentence." It answered some questions, but the truth really just made you have even more.
"We're more on-call currently."
Ominous. "On-call for what?"
"Classified."
You squint your eyes at him.
"I can't tell if you're joking or not."
He stands as still as a statue.
You wave him off. "Alright, secret agent man. Just don't go asking me to join the warfront."
"We won't," he says more seriously than you'd expect in response to your sarcasm.
"Good. I think all I'd be good for is a meat shield."
"Nah, you're too scrawny for that. 'D most likely send you out to find minefield paths."
"Wow!" Your laugh fills the yard. "And what's the life expectancy of that?"
He shrugs. "A few minutes if you're quick enough."
The macabre subject and his blasé attitude towards it makes you feel a little guilty for letting it make you laugh. But the conversation took your mind off the impending freak-out and you don't feel like you need to run and hide somewhere anymore. You take your wins where you can.
You wander a bit further from the house and find a spot to sit on the grass. You stick your leg out straight and lay the crutches off to the side.
The air is fresh in a way you've never experienced before your trip and probably never will again. Birds sound off in the distance from the trees. No car noise. No plane noise. No machinery. No construction. Just Earth in its most basic, original form.
"There are worse places to be told to live," you say, watching the clouds.
You're only aware he approaches by the sudden warmth of him at your side. Simon takes a seat on the ground next to you.
"That there are."
The two of you sit in a comfortable silence that neither of you feel the need to fill. It's notable to you because of how easy it is to just exist like this with Simon. He's seen you at your absolute worst more times than anyone else in the world has and he still doesn't treat you any lesser for it. Being around him doesn't give you that feeling like you need to be playing a character on a stage or exhaust yourself trying to live up to the projection of a person that you aren't.
It's dangerous, this feeling. Getting comfortable around him creates complacency, gives you something to miss when you leave. This is a rarity, you know, finding a person who you don't have to explain every aspect of your existence to. Now that you know it's possible, you worry that Simon will forever be the ghost haunting every connection you make in the future.
It makes your heart break just a little thinking about it. Already mourning him and the days spent here when they aren't even gone yet. Nostalgic for a time you're currently living in.
"Let's see what the doc's havin' you do, yeah?" Simon breaks the silence, pulling his phone out. You sigh quietly.
Summary: Young Simon who works at a butcher’s shop and reader that has a crush on him, they spend one night together and are both clumsy and fools in love, but sometimes it isn’t enough.
Warnings: Canon! Simon (tiny bit), mentions of abuse, mentions of blood (butcher), angsty, angst without comfort
A/n: Hey my lovelies, this has been in my drafts for too long and i think it’s time to publish it. I honestly wouldn’t mind writing a second part for this, because my lonely and romantic ass needs comfort and all of that. Please feel free to tell me what you think of this and if you even would like a second part!
"Hey," you smiled shyly as you greeted the apprentice at the butcher shop. You had seen him a few times on the way to school and as you walked past the shop on your way home, especially when your parents wanted you to buy something . His honey brown eyes, the dirty blonde hair and the crooked smile that he absentmindedly gave you had captured your heart immediately.
So after some time you gathered the courage to walk up to him and talk to him, having asked around for his name, yes weird, but you were too deep in.
His brows furrowed slightly as he looked up at you, before they lit up with recognition. "Oh, hi," he greets you back, before he turns back to splitting up whatever peace of meat he had infront of him, before he looked back at you. "How can i help you?," he asked, as your cheeks turned pink. How could he help you? Well maybe with his number or anything, but you didn’t have the courage to say that, the worst thing is that you were vegan, you didn’t need anything from a butcher, yet here you were.
"I- uhh," you cleared your throat and averted your gaze, your face heating up. "Are-," he interrupted you with a grin and wiped his hands quickly before he walked around the counter and stood infront of you.
"I wanted to see you actually," you finally admitted after a moment of silence, before introducing yourself and rambling nervously. "‘M sorry if i made you uncomfortable or anything, it’s just you’re really- ugh," you buried your head in your hands and felt a pit in your stomach.
"Hey, you absolutely didn’t, i-," he rubbed the back of his neck and cleared his throat. "I’m kinda glad that you’re here and stuff."
Your eyes widened and you looked at him surprised and maybe even in disbelief. He had noticed, oh my god, he noticed you. "My shift is just about to end, you wanna wait? We could walk around after that," he suggests as he rubbed his hands. You quickly nodded and made an embarrassingly loud and excited noise.
Simon’s gaze kept drifting over to you the whole time, while closing up the shop and washing the blood off of his hands. After locking up he guided you outside and exhaled nervously, hands in the pockets of his winter jacket. "I‘ve noticed you for a while you know? Just never had the courage to walk up to you," he starts, shivering slightly at the autumn breeze.
"Kinda same," you replied shyly, looking into his eyes, before he guided you with his arm on the small of your back and that was that. "So butcher, huh?," you ask with a small smile, leaning into his touch as you walk around, the leaves crunching underneath your shoes. The air smelled like rain and and cold autumn, it was comforting, especially with him now.
"It’s good and easy money," he elaborated with a shrug. He needed the money to move out and away from the place he was supposed to call home. "So you’re not gonna be a butcher in the future?," you tease him, making him snort and shake his head. There is a moment of comfortable silence and neither of you have the need to fill it.
"What about you?," he asks as he comes to a halt under a streetlight, "Me? I mean besides school I work at a random restaurant to make some money. Wanna move out too, as soon as I can," you tell him quietly, twirling your hair around a finger. There was a silent understanding between you two and you looked away for one second, though he turned your face back towards his.
Your eyes widen and you stare at him like a deer caught in headlights. "Do you ever get that feeling to run away and leave everything behind?," he asks quietly, staring into your eyes intensely. The question catches you off guard and you swallow hard before nodding, "yeah daily," you reply back. His eyes drop to your lips for a second, before he pulls back abruptly and clears his throat. Was he- his cheeks were red and he averted his gaze, gently nudging you to continue to walk.
"Soo, what are we going to do now?," you ask him as you follow him again. He huffs out and looks up at the night sky for a second before finally replying. "Wanna leave everything for one night?," he asks suddenly, looking determined and nervous.
"How?," you ask with furrowed brows, coming to a halt and head tilting to the side as he steps closer. "I don’t know, let’s leave this town for one night, maybe we could take a train, just- one night you and me." The idea of running away for even a day was so tempting, but you were hesitant especially at the thought of the after effects. Before you could overthink further you nodded and let him guide you to the train station, hands intertwined and both clearly flustered. Soon enough you were both sitting in a train to Salford, a city close to Manchester. Both of you were nervous, maybe even scared because who knows what will happen when you come back home. Neither of you knew what would expect you back home.
"You know what? I think we should also forget everything for one night, i can’t enjoy this when I think about going back," you tell him quietly, your head resting on his shoulder. Simon didn’t know why he felt a warmth in his chest as you got comfortable with him, he hated people touching him. Now he only hated that this didn’t happen sooner.
Hours later you had reached the destination of your heart and started exploring the city at night, walking through the streets and talking about nothing in particular. For once you were both careless and let loose, this is what was the promised life as a teenager that neither of you had gotten. But even if it was one night only, you would never forget this or him; the way his eyes lit up, his smile turned into a grin and his hand warm against yours. God, you were so beautiful, all deer-ey eyes, flushed cheeks from laughing so much, he couldn’t stop staring.
You look up startled as your friend called your name and feel that oh so familiar sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. Simon your first and last love, Simon who had left one day without saying goodbye, your Simon that you hadn’t even gotten to kiss and hug goodbye. You found out through his boss at the butcher’s shop, that he had left for the military and you simply have never been the same.
"Are you even listening to me, babe?," your friend asks concerned and maybe even a little pissed, which immediately made you feel terrible. "Sorry, just a lot on my mind with work, just- can you tell me again?," you ask as you force yourself to listen this time, fiddling with the necklace that Simon had bought that night. You never took it off, how could you? Were you pissed about him leaving? Definitely, but you understood him, because you would have done the same in his situation. It wasn’t long after his disappearance that you left that town and your nightmares behind, to start your own life.
Even years later you haven’t forgotten, you kept looking him up online, though there were zero helpful results. After a time you simply gave up and took care of the only reminder of him, never missing a chance to dream about him and the future that could have been.
Morning came with Simon's words still echoing in your mind.
Focus on getting your strength back. That's your mission.
You start simple. Looking through the bags of clothes you find an assorment of basics. Short sleeves, long sleeves, jeans, joggers, a couple of sports bras to replace your ruined one. A pack of underwear that are your exact size. You decide not to think too hard on how he knew that just by looking.
Grabbing an outfit from the spread and the bag still sitting on the bedside table with toiletries, you head into the en suite.
You decide your first step into the mission Simon assigned you was going to be getting yourself ready for the day by yourself.
You'll still be stuck with baths as you can't really stand all that well on two legs, and you can't think of anything more humiliating than falling in the shower and having to be rescued. Not after everything else.
So you let the bath fill up while you investigate more in depth what else is in the bag other than the toothbrush and toothpaste. A hairbrush and a comb, an unscented bottle of lotion, shampoo and conditioner from an ancient brand you think your dad bought you after your parents divorced and moved out, and a pack of hair ties. Rather bare bones utilitarian, but all useful. More than you ever would have expected. You're kind of surprised he didn't just get you some 9-in-one and call it a day.
The bath goes smoothly and being able to do it yourself gives you a disproportionate amount of determination for the start of the day.
Clean, clothed, and given a game plan for the day, you leave the bedroom more assured in your existence there.
Until you leave the hallway and nearly run headfirst straight into a wall of man just coming down the stairs.
Your crutches skid on the ground as you jump backwards to avoid colliding with him and do an awkward hop-skip to avoid falling on your ass.
"Shi— Sorry," you babble.
His hands hover around you, ready to catch and stabilize you should your own less-than-ideal reflexes fail to save you.
"That's alright, love. Didn't mean to startle ya."
You can only find the courage for a glance upwards, meeting John's eyes for a moment before you have to look at a spot just over his shoulder instead.
He takes his hands back and gives you a look over. "How's the fever been?" he asks
"Oh," the question takes you by surprise, "it's gone, haven't really noticed it for a while."
He nods. "Good." John turns and starts walking to the kitchen. "Have you eaten?"
"No." You hesitantly follow him, wanting to tiptoe. "I was just going to spend the day outside. Simon said it was supposed to be nice out."
"None of that, now." He shoots you a look over his shoulder that you can only meet for a moment. "Should get some food in ya." He pauses and turns more towards you. "You're welcome to anything in this kitchen at any time, alright?" His thick brows rise as he expects an answer.
You can muster a nod.
"Kyle's off to town. It's his turn to get the shopping done. If there's anything you want him to pick up while's he's out, I'll let him know."
John walks fully into the kitchen and pulls out a carton of eggs and a few glass containers.
He puts them on the counter and directs his attention back to you where you stand awkwardly in the middle of the room.
"You like omelets?"
"Uhm. Yeah, they're not bad."
John nods and starts getting to work presumably making omelets.
Even though the house is a more open concept, you feel almost like a vampire; unable to enter the boundary of the kitchen without permission. So you just linger like a weirdo, not sure if you should waddle on outside or breach the perimeter and dare to take a seat while he's busy in the space.
John makes the decision for you. He opens one of the containers and slides it over the counter towards you.
"How about blueberries?" And there are in fact blueberries in the container. A large amount of them, enough to pack full in the square glass.
You hum and nod in confirmation, taking the offering of berries as the invitation your vampiric sensibility requires to step closer.
They're a bit smaller than the ones you're used to, but are rich in their color. When you try one, the taste takes you by surprise. You let out a hum.
John watches you while he whisks the eggs, a small smiling curling his beard.
"They grow everywhere around here. Soap's always bringing some home after his run."
The information intrigues you enough that you don't notice you're making eye contact with him.
"These are wild?"
"Mm-hm," he nods.
"Huh. I've only ever had store bought."
The eggs sizzle as they're poured in the pan. "Once you've had wild or homegrown produce, the shit at the shops will be ruined for you forever."
You snicker around another blueberry.
"Also doesn't cost an arm and a leg for it to get shipped up 'ere," a voice close to your shoulder says.
"Fucking—!" You jump, slamming back into the countertop to face the sudden presence at your back. Your heart pounds so hard you can feel it in your fingertips as you look up at Simon who looks as unbothered as can be at nearly scaring the life out of you. "Announce yourself, dude! Or wear a bell or something, damn."
He just chuckles at you, a quiet low noise that comes from deep in his chest.
"Just wanted to make sure you were awake." He reaches over you, nearly caging you in to the counter as he does, and snags a few blueberries for himself.
"Or give me a heart attack," you grumble, throwing back the handful of berries into your mouth.
Simon tunnels a berry up his balaclava into his mouth and quickly eats it before looking at the rest in his hand.
"What do you call blueberries stored in a hidden box?"
The question is just that much incomprehensible that it stops you and makes you give him your full attention.
"What?"
He gives you a deadpan look. "Berried treasure."
The groan that you respond with is completely involuntary.
John's head shakes and he looks up to the sky with a roll of his eyes. "Are you ever off?"
Simon's eyes crinkle with a smile and he walks around the counter to reach the sink. He pulls up his mask and eats what's left in his hand in one go before pulling it back down.
Simon grabs the water bottle he got you from the drying rack by the sink and starts filling it up with ice and water from the fridge. He puts an electrolyte tablet in it and closes it up, placing it on the counter in front of you.
"Doc said to drink at least one full of these a day." He taps the bottle.
John finishes up at the stove and plates the omelet up and fishes a fork out from a drawer. He slides that over to you as well.
You steel yourself to look in his eyes long enough to say, "Thank you."
"Of course."
You start eating while John starts cleaning up. Your brows furrow.
"Aren't you guys going to have anything?" you ask remembering the amount of food they put away just the other morning.
"Already ate," John says waiting for the faucet to get hot enough.
You look at the clock on the oven.
"It's only just past 8."
"Early risers, love."
"Oh," you accept the explanation.
As you eat, John finishes cleaning up so fast it's like he's being timed while Simon fishes out his phone from his pocket.
"Kyle's computer's probably in the garage," he says, typing away on his phone. "But you should still be able to access what your doctor prescribed you on this."
"Alright."
As you sit there, in a quiet kitchen eating a meal that was cooked for you with people who have done nothing but help you, and at times have done everything for you, a wave of overwhelm starts to lap at the shores of your mind.
The morning started out fine, great, even. You did what you set out to do and did it by yourself. A plan for the day was made and committed to. It's not even that extensive of a plan, it's literally just to do your physical therapy exercises.
But sitting there, doing nothing whatsoever that could be construed as dangerous or unmanageable, the world starts to morph into a place too big for you to be in.
Mind still raw from the deluge of emotions from the night prior, all you want to do is close yourself away in Kyle's room and pretend that you don't exists.
The shift happens so fast it almost leaves you dizzy. Your pulse starts ticking in your throat and for a moment you worry that the omelet's going to come right back up, which only fuels the anxiety into a panic sizzling your already fried brain.
You take as deep a breath as you can, slow as to not be noticed, and set the fork down. You disguise the way you want to flee from the space with a drink. The electrolytes make it fizzy.
"Done for now?" Simon asks, looking up at you from the phone. "Doc suggested smaller portions more often to not crash your blood pressure. Can save the rest for later."
"How do you know that?"
"It was in your papers."
"Oh." Maybe you should've actually read them. To be fair, you've been a bit preoccupied.
John opens a drawer and pulls out a large plastic baggie. You sit there frozen like a deer in headlights watching him take your plate and putting the whole thing in the bag.
"It'll be in the fridge for ya. I'll make sure Soap doesn't eat it." He gives you a little wink and puts it away.
Simon glances out the window. "Weather's still holdin' up. Up for some fresh air?"
No. You want to go home. You don't know where that is, exactly, but that's where you want to go. "Yeah."
Simon grabs your water bottle for you and you have no choice but to follow him, all while trying not to spiral into a full meltdown and cursing him for giving you that damn mission.
Cod Men x Reader who has an alcohol tolerance so high it’s getting to the point where it’s concerning.
My tables, just think about it (for this example let’s put the ship as Nikto x Reader (omfg I love this man so much it hurts))
During some foreign affairs thing, Price decides to be mean to Nikto so you decide to challenge him to a little drinking contest. Price, not knowing you, or your fun little ability, agrees.
now in this price is widely known to have a pretty iron solid gut but the reader walks right up to him and slams down a crate of 32 bottles of high proof alcohol.
In price thinks that this will be because he thinks it’s a bluff but after 3 bottles he starts swaying while reader is still sitting up straight without any kind of slurring.
But then, reader decides to make a bet (with 141 and your man), and you decide that it’s a good idea to go up against all of 141. So you then bring out more crates so that they can keep up with you. And then they all try to match you collectively, soap and price get the furthest, but then they pass out. And in the end, you are victorious, and you get to see your man in a skirt, with heels, and a camisole.
Your transfer to the 141 wasn't something you really had too much choice in, Laswell asking you was nothing more than a formality, the papers already printed and ready to be signed as soon as you said yes. You knew why she picked you, an alpha from a big family of mostly omegas and also raised by an omega couple. You were indeed perfect for the job, although you couldn't help but feel a little like a glorified babysitter for a group of very stubborn men rather than a soldier.
Contrary to your expectations the first meeting goes well, no one refusing a handshake or just leavin the room, no barely muffled growls or too may dirty looks from that you've noticed. It seems that box of scented things sent ahead was a good idea. For the first few days you keep mostly to your own room, spending a little over an hour in the common area and slowly increasing the amount of time each day. You make your best to keep up a routine so they know when and where you'll be in what was until recently their space.
Making light conversation with Gaz about training while cooking a meal, asking if he would like some and not insisting when he refuses. Always announcing yourself before entering a room and even if Ghost probably heard your footsteps from a mile away, you can tell he appreciates the heads up. You make sure to never accidentally block the exit or sit too close to it. Never approaching anyone from a blind spot because at the end of the day this are men with military training and you would rather not have to deal with a black eye or a broken nose.
Threading carefully around Price in particular, proving that you respect his authority as a captain and won't try to use your designation against him and take control over the task force. You don't miss the way they're glancing at you when they think you aren't looking, the way your spot gets immediately taken after leaving the room even if the rest of the couch is empty. How they took to one of them sitting right next to you in the mess hall, always a little too close even if there's plenty of space on the bench. The four of them seem to have a system because you heard Soap complain one time about why did Gaz get Fridays and Price telling him to wait his turn.
Slowly you start getting invited to movie nights or the pub and if one of the lads has a little too much to drink and leanes for a few minutes into your shoulder, there's no harm in that. It escalates to little touches, a pat on the back from Price, a cigarette shared with Gaz, your fingers brushing every time the two of you pass it back and forth or Soap putting his arm around your neck after a session at the gym. Ghost is still keeping his distance, but from time to time would crack a joke over the comms and the first time you tell him one of your own, there's actually a low chuckle coming from the other end of the line.
Things are looking promising and after the first mission out in the field goes well, you finally gain some confidence about your place here. None of them returned your things yet even if they probably lost your scent a long time ago, but also nobody asked you to scent anything for them either. You can't help but feel a little dejected, but things have to be done at their pace, which is why even after two months since arrival, you still wear patches over your scent glands.
Wearing those for a long time gets uncomfortable, adding the sweat and grime of not always having access to a proper shower, your skin bears the consequences. You have to actively hold yourself back from scratching it as to not worsen the eczema flare-ups, applying thick layers of moisturizing over it and sleeping with gloves. Ghost in particular seems to notice your struggles, even if he doesn't say anything, you find a tub of vaseline on your nightstand. Later when doing laundry, you can't find your sleeping t-shirt no matter how hard you look for it. Exhausted you go to sleep, intending to properly look for it in the morning, perhaps someone took it by accident.
You wake up in the middle of the night with the unmistaking feeling of being watched and the dark silouette in the corner of the room confirms your suspicions immediately. Before your training could kick in, a whimper stops you in your tracks, it sounds scared and in pain. Getting closer you immediately recognize Ghost, his mask balled up in his fists, trying to make himself small as he brings his knees to his chest. The patch on the side of his neck is peeling off and you can clearly smell the scent of a distressed omega.
You know what you have to do, but can't act rashly. Sitting on the floor in front of him, but still leaving some distance as to not overwhelm him, you ask him if he wants to get into bed. Wouldn't that feel so much nicer than the cold hard floor? You barely hear the whispered "okay" leaving his lips, but it's enough. Asking him if it's alright for you to touch him to help him up and being happy when he accepts it, leaning his body into you. Slowly helping him up, you guide him to the bed, his skin feeling a little too cold to your liking so you bundle him in a blanket burrito and that seems to instantly calm him down. Your offers of getting him something to eat or drink are quickly rebuffed by his plea to not leave him alone, the tone in his voice twisting something in your heart.
You sit next to him and Ghost closes the rest of the distance, nuzzling his face into your neck and making a displeased sound at the plasticky texture of the patch over your scent gland. Tentatively you ask:
"Do you want me to take it off?"
The only answer you get is Ghost's mouth slowly peeling the patch away as you don't dare to move a muscle. As soon as the patch is off he starts purring and you can resist your own instincts only so much. The happy sound of a previously distressed omega having you pumping calming pheromones as you gently embrace him. He puts his head on your chest, the sound of your heartbeat lulling him to sleep.
In the morning his side of the bed is empty and your blanket is missing, the imprint of his body still visible on the sheets. As soon as you arrive in the common room, you can't tell there's something going on by the way Gaz's frame stiffens for a moment, Price's fingers holding the mug a little too tight that it might break at any moment. It takes you a second to realize what's wrong, you aren't wearing any blockers so this is the first time they smell your scent after sending the box, your pheromones floating in the air. You quickly stammer an excuse and try leaving for the showers, but Price's voice stops you in your tracks:
"It's fine, sergeant. It's good to let your scent glands to breath from time to time. Have some breakfast."
You just nod and sit down as Johnny and Ghost enter the kitchen. You feel hyperaware of the way your pheromones are fluctuating right now, belatedly realizing that for the first time none of them are wearing a patch over their scent glands in your presence. Somehow you feel exposed and the urge to scratch is unbearable, but a pointed look from Price stops your hand in mid air. It's a curious thing, they go about breakfast normally and yet you can't shake off the feeling of something more going on even if you can't put your finger on it. Despite living your entire life as an alpha, for the first time you feel vulnerable in an unexpected way.
