NECK NUZZLES… idk maybe im touch deprived but i love the idea of just hiding from the world in someone’s neck.
You learned the rules fast. They kept you alive. They kept everyone sane. Which meant neck-nuzzling had a strict roster.
Ghost:
Ghost’s rule was absolute: never in front of others. Private, always private. You only saw that side of him when the mask came off and the world felt like it’d been turned down a notch. In his bunkroom, late and only when the house was a hush, you’d edge in, careful as a cat. He’d let you hide in the crook of his neck a small, fierce permission. He didn’t speak much; his hand at the back of your head was the whole language. When anyone asked later, he’d shrug like it was nothing. You knew better. It was everything.
Price:
Price’s concessions were measured and official. He’d sign off on neck-naps only when the operational calendar read no mission today and the paperwork was done. You could find him in his office, lamp low, maps rolled away, poring over reports with a cup of tea gone cold. If you came in quiet and tipped into his shoulder, he would pause, close the folder, and let you fold into him like a bookmark. He’d pat your head once…two times if you’d been particularly useful that day, and then go back to the ledger. No fuss. The gesture was a promise: I will hold you while the world is stupid.
Gaz:
Gaz was the slow, solid kind. He didn’t make a big show; he made room. If you were touch-starved and needed to hide, he was the man who’d let you tuck in without flinching. On watch, he was all focus; off-watch, his default was inadvertently domestic. He’d let you curl against his neck while he cleaned kit or scrolled through a battered phone. He’d talk about nothing; football scores, a stupid pub he remembered once, while his hand kept a steady rhythm along your spine. He wasn’t flashy about affection but he was reliable like gravity.
Soap:
Soap would make it theatre if you let him. He’d scoop you up in a grin, announce your “neck privileges” to anyone within earshot(lol), and then proceed to be loud and ridiculous while you burrowed in. But it was the little things; how he’d squeeze you a fraction tighter if you trembled, or how he’d braid a stray lock of hair behind your ear without making a point of it, that proved he meant it. He gave warmth with the volume turned up