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theshrikeandcanary · 4 months ago

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GUYS OMG ITS HEEEEERE:

okay it's time for my (not asked for) breakdown of everything i love and how im understand this chapter:

Johnny meeting you outside and john standing to greet you

AAAAHHHHHHHH this gets to me in ways it shouldn't because it's so simple and yet overlooked all the time. I can begin to imagine how often I've had to walk into a restaurant and wonder around before I found the table my group is at. It sucks, and it's even worse when it's a date. So this small act, even just standing to greet. Is greatly appropriated by me.

The whole paragraph about john standing

hehehehehehe >:) the rolled up t-shirt AAHHHH. The kiss on the thumb AAAAHHHHH. Him complimenting our attitude during the meeting AAAHHHHHHH. I want him. NEOOOW

John "I could taste you on the back of my tongue all night" MacTavish.

This slut of a man omg. He's such a dog in every sense of the word this chapter- not that he was ever behaved.

Sweater vest

this isn't that big of a note- BUT KYLE IN A SWEATER VEST IS SO CUTE OMG.

Cake~

THE MENTION OF THE SEX CAKE THROUGH THE WHOLE CHAPTER. Sorry let me calm down. I had just read all the chapters again so that scene was flashing in my brain with every mention of the cake. I wouldn't be shocked if simon (or any of them) had a massive hard on pop up with just the word cake at this point.

Bread guiding

I have nothing to add. But it's a dizzying paragraph to read. I've read it again and again.

Simon purring

I WANNA HEAR IT SO BAD OMG OMG OMG. I imagine it's deep and gutteral, something that will take you off guard immediately. Like a chainsaw is in his throat. And it's all from him thinking of breastfeeding lol. I can't tell if it's the thought of breastfeeding or just being apart of that conversation that gets him going.

Simons face

I love his beat up and torn face sooooo much. It unlocks a very motherly response in me- i just wanna cradle him and show him all my love.

Gaz's list

This is such an adorable detail omfg. He made a list of things to ask before the date :') He's such a sweet and caring guy. We love Gaz in this house.

OH, and him jumping in to correct the wording of "objective". It seems like he really understands how incorrectly that can be taken and actively diviertes from that.

Final courting

I loooove the omegaverse plating trope. It so cute to me and never really shown that often. Just the act of plating food is very sweet, but the inspection is so cute to me. They're clearly trying to impress reader in very domestic ways and it's adorable.

That's all from me. Thank you for this chapter, and tagging me!! It's really cute and sets up the series for a more serious and engaging relationship between them all.

Part 4 - Courting (Part 1)

Autumn Embers Masterlist

Read on AO3

CW: Alcohol Consumption, discussion of infertility, omegaverse relationship dynamics

Note: I've added this story to AO3, but at this time I'm still formatting the series.

Before you can even enter the restaurant, Sergeant MacTavish is there to open the door for you.

“Evenin’,” he says with a wink. “Ye look nice.”

“Thank you. So do you,” you answer. And he does. You only have a moment to admire the fit of his collared shirt and dark denim before he’s gesturing you in ahead of him. A hostess, a beta, greets you with a meek glance at the alpha behind your left shoulder, before leading you through the front room and out onto the patio. Garden might be a better description, with greenery separating large tables from one another, muffling sound and scent. At least, you assume it will later. The only occupied table is the round one off to one side, which the hostess gestures you to with a practiced smile.

As you walk up, Captain John Price stands to greet you. His face is gentler than you remember. The sleeves of his heather green henley are pushed up to expose strong forearms as he approaches. He surprises you by offering his wrist before you can offer yours, then tosses propriety out the window by kissing the joint of your thumb. Before you can do more than draw a quick breath, he's leading you to the seat Sergeant Garrick has pulled out for you, apparently to the left of the Lieutenant, between him and the Captain himself. Sergeant MacTavish takes his seat to the Captain’s other side, leaving Sergeant Garrick between him and Lieutenant Riley.

"You are absolutely stunning," the Captain says, settling into his seat. "Been a trial keeping my distance, keeping the boys in line. Been a long time since we've seen a civilian dress a man down as thoroughly as you did."

It’s hard to resist the urge to fidget. Chrissy and Jack had spent hours with you, deciding on this outfit. The red-orange jumpsuit is a bit daring - a beautiful color that compliments your skin tone but bold, a bit too alpha for some tastes. Combined with the heels that have you at a height with Sergeat MacTavish, you’re breaking the first two rules of dating as an omega. You aren’t sure your delicate earrings and bangles do much to counter the effect, but it seems the alphas of the 141 don’t mind.

You are a little distracted from examining the others by the realization that the Captain smells warm, like whiskey and vanilla. Your mind flashes back to the cake in a way that makes your stomach swoop. So it's a little startling when one of the wait staff places a menu in front of you, along with a glass of water and a cocktail.

"Whiskey Sour," Sergeant John MacTavish burrs, "drink of choice, aye?"

That makes you pause. "What makes you say that?"

"'s what ye were drinkin' at the pub," he answers. His eyes are so blue, it's dazzling. "Could smell it. Orange 'n bitters, whiskey and smoke. 'ad ye on the back of my tongue all night."

"Soap," the Captain says, no inflection. "Let her look at the menu."

"Aye," he says, settling back in his chair with a wink to you. Sergeant Kyle Garrick calls your attention.

"We tried to pick a nice variety for lunch yesterday. Did you like it?"

Johnny's words make you very aware of your own scent receptors at the back of your throat, which in turn reminds you of the cake, again. Yesterday, you would have blushed and looked away, but Chrissy's reminder rings in your head. "They're an all alpha pack, you can't back down."

You hold Sergeant MacTavish's eyes for a long moment before turning to the other sergeant. He looks cozy and inviting in his knit vest and gray shirt. "Lunch was delightful, thank you. Still at my place of work, but I appreciate the thoughtfulness. I really appreciated the coffee."

His eyes sparkle as he smiles. "I can't promise not to do something dumb in the future, but we'll always apologize."

You arch an eyebrow. "We?"

You had assumed the Captain or Lieutenant would be the one in charge, but Sergeant Garrick is speaking for all of them. His open body language makes you take in the rest of the table out of habit. But no, everyone is relaxed, breathing easy. And they're all checking in with the Captain, subtle glances and flashes of bare wrist in his direction. And he had said he was keeping them in line. So the Captain does lead, but he's not in competition with the others.

It's confirmed for you when the Captain picks up his own drink and answers. "We. Any of us offend, we're all responsible."

"I suppose I should expect an apology for the bar, then?"

It's Lieutenant Riley who answers. His outfit, when you look at him, is dark, understated - a black cardigan over a dark, soft looking shirt. "No' liars." When you give him an inquisitive look over the rim of your glass, he continues. "Ain’t sorry for that. We'll only apologize when we mean to."

You decide to take it as a challenge. "And if I want one?"

"Good luck getting Johnny to regret it," the Lieutenant snorts. "But you're no' as delicate as all that." ‘

You narrow your eyes. "I could be."

"You're not. 'ard eye contact like this?" He must smile under his surgical mask, eyes wrinkling at the corners. "Maybe a bit soft, when you want t' be. Beautiful. Sweet, if we behave ourselves. But not delicate."

"Simon," the Captain intones, amusement in his voice. "Didn't I just say to let her look at the menu?"

"I'll get to it, Captain," you answer, holding the Lieutenant's stare. You feel a little flush, to hear him call you beautiful and soft and sweet after yesterday, but you're not going to roll for him.

"No need for rank. Just John's fine," the Captain answers. "We're at your leisure."

The Lieutenant's - Simon's - eyes don't leave yours. His chin tips up as yours tucks a little bit toward your chest. He'd probably done the same yesterday to Brandon, an easy acknowledgment that he's not threatened. But unlike yesterday, he's so relaxed that the gesture is welcoming instead of insulting. He won't guard his throat, not because you're not a threat but because you're welcome to his neck.

He breaks eye contact first, looking past you to Sergeant... to Johnny. The collar of his shirt is just low enough for you to see his collarbones, and you can't help a quick glance. The edge of a scar teases you, but you're not going to be so rude as to stare. So you look at his face and watch him deliberately not watch you.

He's so easily given you the win that you feel a bit wrong-footed. You eyes flick to John, then Johnny (Soap?), and finally Kyle. Each of them tilts their right wrist your way, no fuss at all.

A moment later, the scent of a nervous omega drifts over to you. When you look up, a server is fidgeting next to a hedge behind Kyle’s shoulder. He can’t be older than twenty and he’s eyeing Johnny like he’s a wild dog. The alpha isn’t actually doing anything, but he does smell distinctly interested, warm and a little spicy, even across the table.

You meet the boy’s eyes and gesture him over. He hesitates, just a moment, before skirting wide around the next table and avoiding standing behind Simon entirely.

He leans in and lowers his voice, “Can I get you another drink, ma’am? Is this one a bit warm?”

The question surprises you, but it shouldn’t. These are military alphas. A fight between all of them could be dangerous for you. And even if they’re in sync, you’re still a lone omega. If you were close to your heat, it would be easy for them to trigger it. It’s only natural for another omega to check in. You’ll have to leave a note and a bit of an extra tip, for their troubles.

You catch the Lieutenant out of the corner of your eye, shifting his weight away from the two of you. He’s got excellent control of his scent, so you can’t tell if he understands what’s been asked, if he’s offended by the implications. But he doesn’t say anything, and neither do any of the others.

“The drink is perfect, actually,” you assure him. “I was wondering if you had a recommendation. Everything looks good.”

He looks a bit torn, but eventually asks. “Something a bit light?”

“No,” you chuckle. “I’m not worrying about anything like that tonight.”

“Okay,” he says, and he smells skeptical, but less imminently anxious. “Well, we have a few sandwiches. But the salmon en croute is also very good?”

“That does sound good. Can you give us a moment to look at the menu?” You let a little bit of a churr creep into your voice, hope the alphas around you won’t read too much into it. “Can we also get some bread for the table? No rush, you’re looking a little warm, yourself.”

The boy’s scent goes a bit hot and embarrassed, but he doesn’t question you. He looks up at the captain for a brief moment before scurrying off. When you face the rest of the table again, Kyle’s eyebrows are up.

“What’s goin’ on?”

“Nothing,” you say with a little smile. “Just a bit peckish.”

“You gave him an out,” John corrects. “He was nervous about being around so many alphas at once.”

You shrug one shoulder with a little quirk of the lips. If that’s what he wants to believe, you won’t correct him. On your other side, Simon rumbles some disagreement, but doesn’t say anything else.

John examines your face for a long moment. It takes you a little bit by surprise when he says, "You've a lot of little tests for us."

You decide to be honest. "I've found inviting alphas to show me what kind of alphas they are and what kind of omega they expect to be an easy way of figuring out if we're compatible."

Kyle makes an amused sound. "How do we measure?"

"Haven't run yet," you allow.

"See," Simon says, eyes on his own menu. "Not delicate."

You huff a little laugh before turning your own eyes down. You do love salmon…

Before you know it, the server returns with a basket of torn bread and another server, a beta, in tow. You do end up ordering the salmon, and you take note when the others order similarly heavy dishes. They each check with you for a preference. The cut and temperature of a steak, potatoes or mixed vegetables for the table. What kind of cheese on a burger. You draw the line at picking a bottle of wine. “I have a drink,” you point out, lifting the glass in a half toast.

“The champaign rosé” John decides, with a nod to the second waiter. Both servers look to you. You shrug back at them and sip your whiskey.

Your original waiter shuffles inside, leaving the beta to hover just out of sight.

“So!” Johnny grins at you and leans back in his seat, rolling his shoulders. “What’s an omega such as yerself looking for in a pack?”

Kyle groans and puts his face in one hand. “Jesus, Soap.”

“I have my pack,” you answer, leaning back in your own seat to throw your own gauntlet. “Family I’ve chosen amongst my friends. And I’ve never found them lacking enough to seek anything more formal.”

“Oh, aye? They the ones who’ve helped you get all prettied up, this evenin’? C’n smell the wee blonde one on ye.”

Before the Captain can growl a correction, you point your glass at him. “Are you this rude on purpose, or is it just a natural talent?”

“Six ‘f one, half dozen the other,” the man answers easily, chin tipped up. “Wantae see that hint of fang you flashed fer us. That real, or just a bit of show for the base?”

“That wasn’t for you,” you scoff.

“For Laswell then?”

You cock an eyebrow. “Is she interested?”

“Oh aye, she loves a curvy thing with a bit o’ sharp edge.”

“Johnny,” Simon rumbles. “Enough.”

“Nae,” the Sergeant drawls. “She’s ‘ere, with us. If she wants something like that twat Brandon c’n offer, she’d have ‘im wrapped around those delicate fingers. She likes an alpha with a little bite.”

“Presumptuous,” you sniff.

“Yer the one drinkin’ the whiskey.” Johnny’s grin flashes his canines.

Fuck, you think, narrowing your eyes at him over the rim of the glass. You thought you’d only had a few sips, but now that he’s called attention to it, you feel just a bit warm. You lean forward to pluck a piece of bread from the basket, turning your attention to Kyle instead.

“And what about you? Do you think my temper’s just for show?” You ignore Johnny’s pleased rumble as you take another sip of your drink. It’s… significantly emptier than you realized.

“Oh, I don’t know about show.”

Kyle’s smile is sly, chin tilting down as he leans forward. Your own chin comes down, lips tight and ready to flash fang when his hand comes toward you. But he’s just reaching across Simon for the bread basket. You realize a split second too late that you’ve fallen for his little trick, answering your own question.

Before you can recover, Kyle turns his eyes to the Captain. “Tav’s right, though, sir. She’d not be here if she minded us being a bit forward.”

“I think you’ll find I do mind,” you protest.

He tears a piece of bread off as he looks back at you, his own brow arching. “How was the cake, then?”

A flash of heat twists through your belly and up your spine. You can’t help but bark a little laugh. “You’re just as bad as Johnny!”

“No one’s as bad as Soap,” John grumbles, taking some bread and passing the basket away from you. He tears off a piece and dips it into the plate of oil and spices before offering it to you.

Gods above, they really don’t do anything by halves. You consider directing him to place it on the bread plate. The whiskey tells you to lean in and eat straight from his hand. You split the difference by plucking the morsel from his fingers and popping it in your mouth.

You hold John’s gaze as you wash it down with the last of the whiskey. “And what is your pack looking for in an omega?”

“Not easily offended, apparently,” he says with a chuckle. “But if you’re insisting on honesty…”

“I am.”

“Well, then, we weren’t looking for an omega,” he says, easily. “The task force demands a lot. Not much time for dating.”

That’s not a surprise. A lot of military alphas stay in one place the majority of the time, but you know the 141 is deployed all over the world on short notice.

The belief that omegas need more stability than other designations is pseudo-scientific bullshit. Those popular myths were debunked in the ‘50s, after the wars shook up so many communities and packs. But the instability of military service still makes developing a pack difficult.

Your quasi-pack with Mel, Jack, and Chrissy is not particularly sensitive to disruption. None of you are strangers to late nights and unexpected interruptions to your schedules. Chrissy in particular can sometimes take off for a couple of weeks at a time, on a tour. Mel travels for rugby games, with Jack trailing along behind. But you aren’t relying on each other to pay bills or plan a family together. And none of you are going across the world to get shot at.

You arch an eyebrow. “So what does that mean for this potential courtship?”

“That’s up to you, sweetheart,” John says easily. “Obviously, we can’t offer something strictly traditional. We’re quite happy to know you’ve got your Quasi. But we’re also a bit…”

“Possessive,” Simon supplies on your other side.

“Protective,” Kyle protests. “We’re not gonna keep you from your friends. But if you want a family-”

Dammit. You’d hoped to at least have your food in front of you before broaching this topic. “I can’t have kids.”

John doesn’t miss a beat. “Can’t and want to, or can’t and wouldn’t?” He smooths the potential edges of the question by offering another piece of bread, soft, with just a bit of crust. When you reach to take it from his hand, he doesn’t let go, just lets you guide him until the bread is at your mouth.

He lets go just before you part your lips, his wrist brushing yours. It’s dizzying, reminds you that while Johnny is the most overt, John is the one they all follow. You’d bet money that he’s the one behind the cake, ultimately.

You almost forget the question. “Um. Oh. I, um, I don’t really want children of my own. I’m not opposed to them, on principle. Jack and Mel are considering. Chrissy’s not a fan of babies, but I’d be happy nursing-”

Simon purrs so hard behind you it makes you jump, and you realize that drinking on an empty stomach has completely suppressed your filter. When you turn, the lieutenants pupils are blown, but his scent is very deliberately neutral.

And that’s when your other server arrives with the appetizers.

Kyle’s demeanor changes. You hadn’t realized the weight of his attention until he turned a bright smile on the other omega. Johnny makes a comment about how he’s “starving, really, Kyle’s been hogging the bread.” They volley back and forth so quickly and easily that both servers are gone before you realize that everyone’s scents are locked down, not just Simon’s.

And you knew, you knew that they were special forces, but you’re not used to watching others consciously make themselves less obvious, less threatening. You can smell them, but they smell so neutral that if you couldn’t see them, you’d severely underestimate the threat that they pose. It makes you eye your whiskey glass, too late, with a newfound wariness.

You get distracted when you look at Simon, your first unobstructed view of his face as he chooses a piece of bread for himself. He lets you look, lets you take in the scars on left side of his mouth that are too clean to be anything but intentional. The notch in his upper lip means you can see his canine and one perimolar. He doesn’t stop eating when he notices you observing him, and you find yourself a bit charmed by how tidy he is.

“Gaz had a a whole plan for what to talk aboot,” Johnny says, startling you into looking back across the table at him. He pops a stuffed cherry tomato in his mouth as he says, “Ah threw everyone off.”

“On purpose,” Kyle mutters.

“A little,” Johnny admits with a shrug and a wink. “Never been great at small talk.”

“Thinks ‘e knows better,” Simon rumbles. “Sees the objective and ‘as to take the most direct route.”

“Objective is the wrong word,” Kyle is quick to jump in. “We’re used to looking at the world thought that lens-“

“We just like ye, is all,” Johnny jumps in to assure you.

They’re nervous, you realize. You’re nervous, all of your carefully planned talking points thrown to the wind. It’s time for a tried-and-true conversation saver. Hopefully these alphas like sports.

“Who do you think is making it to the cup this year?”

Kyle jumps on the subject change, obviously - and charmingly - relieved. “Well obviously, it’s going to be Man United and The Blues going head to head in the finals.”

“Manchester City and Arsenal.” Johnny scoffs.

“Don’t start that shite,” Simon grumbles.

The sports talk gets you through the appetizers. You have only the barest knowledge of sports from your time in school and Mel’s rugby league, but you’re very practiced in making vaguely skeptical noises at key moments to keep the conversation going. Johnny and Kyle are much more careful than your alpha coworkers not to imply that you don’t know what you’re talking about. Simon gets a bit smug when you scrunch your nose at one of Kyle’s points. John gives you an amused look, once he figures out what you’re doing, but doesn’t say anything.

The food helps you to feel a bit more in control of yourself, so while three of the alphas argue, you try to organize your thoughts. You’d attended this dinner with the expectation that you would be hearing out a list of demands and expectations. Alphas dictate, omegas yield.

But now they’ve left so much up to you. You’d expected them to balk, to demand answers about an omega claiming to be barren. Instead, John had offered a thoughtful question about your desires. Simon’s enthusiastic show of approval had reminded you that a lot of military As aren’t involved in family planning discussions. That something as mundane as nursing might be exciting, not a matter of course, a concession to your expected role as nest-stay.

It’s refreshing, and it throws you off. Other alphas might expect you to quit your job if the courtship is favorable. Would the 141? The four of them together certainly make more than enough money to support an omega between them. Would you be expected to move in with Price? With all of them?

By the time the main course comes out, you’re flustered all over again with unanswered questions. You’re kind of grateful when the glass of rosé is poured for you, but you do make sure to ask for more water for the table.

In a move you probably could have predicted, John prevents you from serving yourself. He and Simon take turns choosing and presenting the best bits of the sides you ordered for the table. You humor them, analyzing the veggies for blemishes, and, seeing none, allow them to be put on your plate.

What you don’t expect is to be offered all of their entrees for similar inspection. When you give them your baffled approval, they all give little purrs. For all that Lieutenant Riley promised that this evening wouldn’t be formal, they’re treating you like a distingué, like your position is guaranteed and respected above even the Captain.

It’s a pleasant surprise. As you take a bite of your salmon, you feel optimistic for the rest of the evening.

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