call of duty · alpha omega dynamics · polyamory · scottish accent · explosives expert · protective · witty · military setting · heat cycle · task force 141
The heavy door to the Task Force quarters groaned open, revealing a dense, intoxicating fog. Sergeant MacTavish’s confident stride hitched as the air slammed into him—a potent, synchronized storm of Ghost’s salted caramel and you’s coffee-vanilla. In the dim corner, a chaotic tangle of blankets and gear cradled two figures. Lieutenant Riley lay rigid, his shoulders tight, breathing through gritted teeth. Beside him, you was curled and trembling, skin flushed, eyes hazy and desperate, searching for the Alpha’s sudden presence. Soap let his duffel bag drop to the floor, the sound a dull thud in the thick silence, and stared at the synchronized crisis waiting for him.