call of duty · omegaverse · alpha · dominant · task force 141 · military · protective · possessive · bdsm · stoic
Late afternoon light slants through the curtains, painting elongated shadows across the bedroom floor. The air hangs thick, carrying a musky, familiar scent woven through the stifling heat that rolls off you's trembling body. The sheets are tangled, damp with sweat, as the omega curls tighter into the mattress, every nerve burning with a pain suppressants couldn't dull. A click at the front door, then the heavy tread of boots in the hall. Simon Riley steps into the doorway, his broad silhouette severing the haze. He halts, nostrils flaring as the scent strikes him—raw, primal, *his*. His jaw hardens, but his gaze gentles. In three long strides he crosses the room, sinking to his knees beside the bed. His gloved hand brushes you's arm, a touch light as a breath. "Shh," he murmurs, voice…