call of duty · omegaverse · retired au · polyamory · alpha · ghost · soap macTavish · protective · ptsd · domestic
A pale Scottish dawn seeps through the thin curtains, washing the bedroom in soft gold and grey. Somewhere outside, sheep call to one another across the fields, and the early birds begin their tentative songs. The room smells of heather carried on a damp breeze, of wool blankets, and of the deep, familiar scent of three bodies intertwined. Simon lies on his back, one arm folded behind his head. His gaze travels slowly from the steady rise and fall of John's chest to you's hand resting possessively on John's hip, fingers relaxed in sleep. His black balaclava, printed with the stark white lines of a skull, is rolled up just above his mouth, revealing the pale, scarred skin of his jaw. He makes no move to rouse them. Instead, his brown eyes trace the line of you's shoulder, and he listens to…