Overthinking like my life depends on it

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."

Laswell asks you to send ahead a box with scented items, mostly blankets and maybe a shirt or a hoodie, so the guys have some time to get familiar with your scent and maybe be a little less hostile when meeting face to face. The box sits untouched in the farthest corner of the barracks, the four omegas refusing to look at it, let alone touch it even if with every day that passes their curiosity grows. They want nothing to do with it, yet they can't bring themselves to throw it out, every time one of them enters the room, glancing to the corner a moment too long.

Surprisingly it's Ghost that breaks first. On one of his bad nights when the shadows on the walls start resembling faces and hands he thought he buried deep enough to never see them again, but still catch up with him, he's feeling desperate. While peeling open the tape on the box, Simon tells himself he just needs another blanket, the one in his room soaked up with sweat and balled up at the foot of the bed. He expects his stomach to drop and lips curl in displeasure when he gets the first whiffs of your scent, but nothing like that happens.

The first thing he thinks when inhaling is gentle, he espected smoke and gun powder, anger and violence from an alpha. This is how his father and all the other men that ever hurt him used to smell like so the difference shocks him. It's something woodsy like pine and a vague note of citrus. An unusual combination that his omega seems to not dislike it, his erratic breath slowing down as he breaths in the material again. The smell is fainter then it would have been a few days before and he finds himself dissapointed by that. Suddenly feeling vulnerable and worried that someone might catch him, he closes back the box and takes the blanket to his room.

If he would have been a bit more throughout and maybe if Kyle wouldn't have been secretely checking out the box every morning, perhaps the younger man wouldn't have noticed that the tape wasn't placed properly on the cardboard. Maybe someone else wouldn't see anything out of place, but Gaz knew better, it was his job to pay attention to things like that. If someone were to ask him what was going on through his head when he slipped his hand inside the box, balling the shirt in his hands and making a beeline to his room, his coffee forgotten in the kitchen, he wouldn't know how to answer. Hours later when he gets back from training, rummaging through clothes, his hand hovers for a moment over the same shirt before stuffing it further inside the closet. By morning it ends up stuffed inside his pillowcase.

Johnny tells himself that it's only because he's late on doing laundry again that he ends up taking the hoodie from the box. He's just borrowing it, any smell probably long gone he tells himself and yet when he puts it on before going to bed, tentatively breathing in at the collar, the faint scent still lingering there helps him fall asleep.

In the morning he's sprinting to the showers, afraid that traces of your scent might be lingering to him, feeling like a guilty child trying to cover up his mistake. He's surprised to see Ghost at a nearby shower, but doesn't have the chance to question it before the man is already out. His body stalling for a moment when passing him and Johnny holds his breath, afraid at being discovered and reprimanded, but his lieutenant doesn't do or say anything else before getting out.

Price thinks that his boys are not as slick as they think they are. Well, Simon was a little bit more careful, but Soap and Gaz have a specific look in their eyes when they know they did something they shouldn't, but don't regret it. That's how the now significantly lighter box ends up on his desk, the signs of it being repeatedly opened visible to the naked eye. He told himself he'll throw it out right after finishing his cigar, but despite the ashtray being half full, the box is still there.

He tries busying himself with paperwork he doesn't care about, eyes passing over rows of words without grasping any meaning from them. Finally feeling defeated after reading the same paragraph thrice, the captain opens the box and takes out the last item. Price is surprised to find a handkerchief, he didn't think anyone still carried those around. It's a plaid pattern with green and white, a pair of initials stitched in the right lower corner that he finds himself tracing with his finger.

When he puts it in his pocket John tells himself it's for practical reasons and yet when drops of sweat are gathering in the creases of his forehead or when his palms are dark with grime and gun powder, the thought of wiping them with the handkerchief doesn't sit right with him. When he finally has enough and decides to just use it as a rag to clean up some spilled coffee on his desk, his hand brings it to his nose instead. Under the smell of his cigars the faintest scent of something else can still be traced. He sits like that until someone knocks at the door and John has to compose himself. He keeps carrying around the piece of fabric long gone after it lost its scent, the shape of it in his pocket grounding him, even if he would never admit that out loud.

He likes it that way, the moment the person he's sleeping with starts asking for breakfast in bed or coffee dates instead of hook ups in the pub's bathroom or in the back alley, he's out of their sight. So when he meets you things just seem so easy, the two of you being on the same page about everything. It should be the ideal layout for him and it works well in the begining, but somewhere along the line things changed.

Ghost doesn't understand what happened, but at some point the moments of pleasure and grunts, sweat coating both your bodies aren't enough anymore. It almost infuriates him the way he has you panting between the sheets (new ones he bought especially for you along with a bed frame because you made a displeased expression at the old beer stained ones), cum coating your inner thighs just for you to regain your breathing after everything is over and get out of bed on shaky legs. He sees you going to the bathroom and waits a few more minutes intent on maybe having another round in the shower only for you to come out with damp hair, already putting your clothes back on and thanking him for a good time.

Simon is not used to being on the other side of the phone watching the hours pass by as he waits for a reply to his last text. When the phone pings with a notification, he almost trips on his own legs to open it just to be dissapointed by Soap drunkenly spamming the groupchat. It's hard to admit just how much the "Kind of busy now, maybe another time." reply really affects him, but the recruits he has running laps until they throw up the next morning will suffer the consequences.

Ghost knows he has no right to dictate who you're seeing besides him, but the trail of hickeys that peek from underneath the too large t-shirt that is definitely not yours has him seeing red. That night he fucks you with the clear intent of you not being able to get out of the bed for the next few days, bringing your knees to your ears, biting and sucking on the skin on your chest, covering the old marks with his own.

He thinks he finally lost his mind when he "accidentally" breaks your phone and somehow the SIM card gets damaged too and now you need a new phone that he happily pays for. It's easy to hide a tracking app thrown with other useless ones that you won't ever check, monitoring the activity on your phone and taking note of which contacts bother you too much to his liking. Ghost starts showing up to the same places you are, staging accidental meetings, maybe crashing a date or two, desperately trying to insert himself into your life.

Even while on deployments he keeps at it, going through your wishlists and search history. When the two of you see each other again he tries casually dropping into conversations the names of the shows you watched or books you have read, feeling like a small victory every time your eyes light up and start rambling excitedly about it.

Slightly shaking your head doesn't make it go away and only the feeling of a weight pressing down your chest startles you awake. You smell him before you see him, the smell that stained the other side of your pillow the last two weeks, making you burrow your nose further into it until you couldn't feel anything else. At first you think that maybe you're still dreaming, but the numbness in your shoulder from something pressing on it is real, the messy hairs of his overgrown mohawk still tickling your jaw are real too. It's the rhythm of his breathing, the rising and falling of his chest that finally breaks you. Gently cupping his head in your hands, you bring his forehead to yours, the feel of his scar on the side of his head being the final proof to believe they actually brought Johnny back to you.

As the familiar alarm starts ringing, you watch him slowly stiring awake, grumbling under his breath about needing five more minutes. Normally you would have let him, but now you're not patient enough, moving a few strands of hair that sticked to his forehead in his sleep, you gently call his name:

"Johnny? Johnny, wake up!"

Calling his name has him sitting straight up in one swift motion, barely avoiding getting headbutted by a hair. A second passes as he takes in the unfamiliar surroundings before he notices you. Blinking a few times, a hand unceremoniously swiping over your face as if he's trying to get rid of an illusion, only when you start scrunching your face does he finally seem to believe you're not a figment of his imagination. He calls your name as he tackles you to the ground, holding you a little too tight, short of being painful. Feeling something wet on your shoulder you wonder if he's crying, but his grip is too strong for you to move around. Gently patting his back, his grip starts to loosen, but doesn't let go of you.

"I thought I was dreaming for a second."

"Where were you, Johnny? Did they do something to you? Are you hurt?"

Your question get more frantic as he gently stops you, his hand making small circles on your back:

"Shhh, it's ok. I'm fine, got back in one piece, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did..."

He doesn't elaborate after that, saying his memory is a little blurry, but they just kept him in another facility and sedated him when he would get restless or refuse to eat. You feel like there's something more he doesn't tell you, there's a certain conviction in his tone that you don't know how to place, but don't dare prode further. He seems healthy and no visible bruises around his wrists and ankles so they didn't restrain him.

The two of you spend the better part of the morning just staying in bed, only the long growl of your stomach has Johnny chuckling as he gets up to go outside pick up the food. You follow him despite his protests, not willing to let him out of your sight. It's only then that the two of you notice the separating wall is back in its original place, only this time both of you are on the same side. It's annoying that now there's less space to roam around, but at least it doesn't look like they plan to keep you apart for the time being. You briefly notice that Johnny doesn't look surprised at all, almost like he expected it, perhaps the sedatives are making him a little sluggish and you're reading too much into every micro-expression on his face.

Suddenly having Johnny back and fully thrown into your space feels a little weird, it's been a while since the last time you had to share your living space with someone else. Every night you feel him scoot a little closer, the imaginary line drawned in the middle of the bed crossed by his arm over your waist, legs tangled together. He's always in your space, the only place and time you have for yourself is in the bathroom and even there Johnny tried on more than one occasion to get in before he remembered you were in there.

You try to establish some resemblance of a routine, but Johnny seems to thrive on chaos and the weights brought back from his old place do little to consume his energy. You're mortified when he starts interacting with some of the visitors, smiling and waving, especially at the children. His behaviour brings more visitors around your enclosure so you end up staying inside even more, stupefied and a little betrayed at the way he's trying to entertain them after all the things they've done to you. Of course, he notices you giving him the cold shoulder and he isn't happy about it:

"You know I'm doing this for us, right?"

"You're certainly not doing it for my benefit."

"It's important for us to be known and liked by them."

"I just want them to leave me alone and not be gawked at as if I'm some exotic animal."

"That's pretty much what we are to them anyways. It's why they brought us here in the first place and if we become a favourite pair of the public, then we might get transfered to the reserve."

"The reserve?"

"They showed it to me when I was away. It's a much bigger place than this, kind of like a village with flora and fauna from Earth. We could roam around and grow our own food. It might not be perfect, but it's the best thing we could hope for given our circumstances."

"If it's so good why didn't they take us there from the begining?"

"Because it's a place intended for a specific species to raise their families there. If this works out, they might bring other humans, have a proper community. What more could you want?"

"My dignity as a sentient form of life in this universe. Don't you want that too, Johnny?"

The week before his rut his home improvement projects move outside: checking that all the windows and doors lock properly and that the security system works perfectly, getting footage from all the cameras on the property on his phone and going through each one before bed.

He works out even more and starts bulking, his appetite nearly doubling, it's a good thing that you prepared and frozen meals in advance, otherwise you would just spend the entire day cooking. Simon's morning run gets longer, taking multiple laps around the property, looking for any gaps in the fence or anything suspicious. Those days he prefers working out at home, either lifting weights in the garage or doing other exercises in the backyard and you're not complaining at all. The sight of the bulging muscles in his arms as he lifts the weights over his head, his shirts rising and exposing the pot belly dusted by the darker hairs forming his happy trail. If you almost walk into a wall gawking at him, that's something he doesn't need to know.

Simon is already a very protective mate, but that increases tenfold when his rut gets close. He follows you everywhere when you go outside, a hand on the small of your back as he gently guides you through the crowds of people. You have to make all the big grocery trips in advance because as his rut approaches, he tries keeping you from leaving the house. Even inside he's still two steps behind you, his shadow looming over you as you get something from the fridge, answering your question about him needing anything with a grunt. On more than one occasion you get out of the shower just to find Simon sitting on the toilet for who knows how long. He doesn't even bother to look embarrassed and just offers to help you put on lotion.

That's the time when Simon starts cooking more, preparing some of the meat from his hunting trips with Price. He makes a point to overflow your plate with food just to end up feeding you from his own and no you can't refuse. Putting you on his lap and feeding you pieces of meat, expecting you to suck his fingers clean of the juices. Only your groans of being too full finally satisfy him, gently rubbing your belly as he puts your head on his shoulder because he knows you get sleepy after big meals. He'll carry you upstairs to the bed in a minute.

The problem is that you wake up in an unknown room that starts to feel familiar the more you take in the details. The only thing that convinces you this is not a dream is stubbing your toe on some piece of furniture, the pain shooting through your entire leg for a few moments feeling very much real. It's only then that you notice a pop up screen hovering in the air, the words "In order to go back, please complete one of the male lead's route." being the only clue you get before the screen dissapears as if it was never there. Your frustrated shouts and pleas for more explanations do nothing but tire yourself out.

It seems that the only way to go back home is to complete the game, but how can you do that when no matter what dialogue option your character chose in the past, you ended up ignored at best and killed at worst? Which male lead to should you go for?

Childhood friend Gaz would seem like the safest option at first, but there's too many things he knows about your character that you have no idea from the game. You try to be friendly and take things slow, but his affection rate for you must be negative because after he throws the coffee and lunch you brought him in the trash right in front of you, making sure the other colleagues in the office hear him loudly declare that these tricks won't work on him, you just give up. Perhaps is your pride getting in the way, but hearing those same words all over again and already knowing that pursuing him will just end up with you fired, you respect his wish and leave him alone.

Things go well for a while, you're even thinking that staying here won't even be that bad, you have an apartment and a nice desk job which is more than you could say about your old life. Unbeknowst to you Kyle starts getting restless, missing the previous attention and getting increasingly more jealous from watching you spend time with other people. Why are you looking and laughing with them?

Always getting invited to places, passing him in the cafeteria without a second glance. You used to follow him around everywhere since the two of you were children, always by his side no matter how mean he was. It was enough for him to throw a nice word your way and everything was back to its right place so what changed now? Why aren't you looking at him anymore? It's because of all these people distracting you from him. Don't worry, he'll get rid of them and won't be mean to you anymore.

You're confused and scared, there's blood everywhere, just a second ago you were laughing at something Mark said and the next moment he was laying on the ground, a pool of blood growing rapidly under him. Even if Kyle is forcefully holding your chin so you can't turn your head away, you know what the warm liquid that made its way to your fingertips even if you can't look at it:

"I'm sorry, darling. I was so cruel to you, but now I changed! There's no one standing between us now so please won't you look at me the way you used to before?"

Local athlete star Soap that is the face for the advertisement campaign your department is working on. He has the reputation of being a bit of a flirt and a short temper, almost getting into a fight with another player from the other team. He's lucky that he's the golden boy of the season and people take his cocky attitude as charming. After the disastrous attempt with Kyle, you don't even bother to try again, treating Mr Mactavish or Johnny as he keeps insisting you call him as just another client. Maybe that's what gets him, someone not treating him like he's something special, not falling for his charm for once.

You ignore his flirting and unprofessional behaviour, always refusing his gifts or invitations to go out. All this refusals are starting to get to him so he does what he does best on the field: if there's not an opportunity then he creates one for himself. It wasn't hard to get those paparazzi on his tail, the hard part was convincing you to see him outside the office for a supposed business meeting. It's just too easy, pretending to get something out of your hair, his fingers lingering on the skin of your cheek for just a moment longer, his hand that sits too close to yours on the table, grabbing it the moment you try to get up and the pictures are posted before the end of the day.

He feels sorry about the flood of hate coming your way, from malicious comments to straigt-up death threats, but it's all necessary for his plan. So when your address got "accidentally" leaked, he was there to pick up the pieces. Who better to keep you safe than him? The sight of you afraid to even go outside, getting startled every time someone's at the door, clinging fearfully to his arm, afraid of getting doxxed again by one of his fans:

"Don't worry, bonnie. We'll release a press statement tomorrow and make our relationship public, the way it should have been from the begining."

Outcast Ghost is not really an outcast because people dislike him, well, maybe some do, but the majority avoid him because they are terrified of him. He works in upper management and spends the majority of his time in his nice private office, the only thing that gets him out is the fancy expresso machine in the cafeteria. Usually there's always a line of people standing there, chatting long after taking their coffee and blocking the access to the machine. It's only the large figure of the brooding man that casts a shadow over them that has the group scrambling away. That's how you end up trailing after him, eagerly waiting for him to be done and take your turn.

You're completely taken back when Ghost turns around and asks you what you want. You are ready to mumble an excuse and fuck off from his sight before he asks how you want your coffee. You tell him and expect that to be all, except for the fact that he takes both beverages and starts walking away to one of the empty tables in the back. An expectant look over his shoulder it's your cue to follow him. He's pretty quiet the first few times, but he seems content to just listen to you rambling, a rare "Go on" or "Hm?" being the only clue that he's actually listening to you.

Those coffee breaks quickly become a routine, more often than not finding Simon at what he claimed to be your table after scaring off some IT guys that tried taking it one day, a coffee already waiting for you. Used by now to him always preparing it for you, the mistake of ignoring the slightly powdery taste will haunt some hours later when you're waking up in the backseat of a car:

"You're finally awake, sunshine."

"Simon? Where are we going?"

"We're gonna take a little trip somewhere nice and quiet without any scheming pests around."

It's only when you try lifting your hand to get some hair out of your face that you notice your wrists tightly ductaped under the blanket. Simon must see your shock in the rearview mirror:

"Just a precaution until we get to our destination, but you won't need it because you were always good to me. Isn't that righ, sunshine?"

CEO Price's first impression of you is that the way you look tearfully after spilling coffee on him is pretty adorable. You really don't want to piss him off because no matter how you approached his character in the game you always ended up fired and blacklisted from the industry. So when he asks you about wanting to become his personal assistant, it takes a few seconds for the words to register in your brain. Well, it doesn't seem to be as much as an ask when he tells you to move your things into his office, the acceptance of your new role never leaving your lips, but already assumed.

Your new position quickly garners you the attention of everyone in the department and not the good kind. Your colleagues make their hostility known every step on the way from locking you inside the bathroom before a meeting, accidentally messing with your papers and collectively forgetting to invite you to various office events. It gets so bad that you end up rarely leaving your desk, keeping Mr Price company.

John is not blind, he sees what's happening and it would take less than the snap of his fingers to resolve the situation, but he doesn't want to. Why break something that works? You spend all your time around him, a skittish thing, knowing your position too well. When he asks you out for dinner you already know that refusing him won't just get you demoted as his personal assistant, but throw you right back into the jaws of your very jealous colleagues that can't wait to get to you. So you say yes to the first dinner and the next one and all the others after that. Eventually you leave your job and move in with him, your lease already broken and things neatly packed when he informed you about it sometime after the main course just as the waiter took your plate. None of this actually feels like your decision, but you don't know what to do. You have no one to ask for help or advice and John has all the resources to trap you exactly where he wants it.

"All of this is for the best, love. I'll take care of you so good. All you have to do is just listen to me. Alright?"

Mafia leader Nikolai is a close friends of Price, the sport world and gambling being closely entertwined. He doesn't mendle so much, but when the bets are to his or his important clients' advantage, he puts in a word for a specific player to tame it down a little the next match or a word to the referees. And if the guy won't collaborate, then he has his methods of getting what he wants, athlets get hurt all the time, isn't that righ? It would be a shame for someone to loose their entire career because of one injury before the biggest competition of the season, but that's life.

He sees you the first time in John's office, the new personal assistant and he thinks you look almost adorable with how skittish you are. He is aware of his rough exterior, but he's usually a charming man with enough money to bring down anyone's defenses and yet you keep escaping his clutches. That's alright, he can be a very patient man so when the opportunity presents itself, he's more than ready to play the hero.

When the rough looking group trash your car as you get out the office after working overtime for the fifth time in a row this week, you're too tired to think properly about just how convenient Nikolai's intervention seems to be. He drives you home, fully taking advantage of your lack of awareness to pry for details about your life, for once his ever reliable sources barely coming up with anything. It was almost like you just appeared as a full fledged adult in this world out of nowhere.

The little thing he sprinkled into the water bottle he offered you right as you entered his car is finally taking effect. Your speech is slurred, leaning your head to the window, the cold glass against your burning forehead a small reprieve. He might not know too many things about you now, but there's plenty of time for the two of you to get to know each other properly in one of his residences outside the country, nice private place with lots of nature around. He's sure you're gonna love it.

"Sleep well, котёнок. It's gonna be much more comfortable on the plane."

What are they saying? This replies weren't in the script when you previously played. Why aren't the male leads behaving like in the game? What is happening?