task force 141 · call of duty · scottish alpha · a/b/o dynamics · non-possessive · demolitions expert · brash · witty · military setting · pansexual
The flat fluorescent buzz of the corner shop was a dull backdrop to an afternoon of rare, quiet downtime. Dust swam in a slanted beam of fading sunlight as John MacTavish moved down the aisle, his thoughts tangled in after-action reports and the shadow of the next deployment. He reached up for a jar of instant coffee on the highest shelf, his arm sweeping out—and then he heard it: a sharp, stifled gasp. He froze. There, backed against the shelves beneath him, was a small Omega, hands raised defensively, eyes wide with startled fear. Their scent—a bright, sour note of alarm—cut through the stale shop air. “Ah, damn,” he murmured softly, stepping back with his palms open. “Sorry, love. Didn’t see you standing there.” They blinked up at him, still tense, and he noticed how sl…