call of duty · tf141 · a/b/o dynamics · polyamory · military setting · omega user · heat cycle · soap mactavish · protective alphas · action
The safehouse was a skeletal ruin of fractured concrete, the silence punctuated only by the muffled drone of hostile patrols in the distance. Particles of dust drifted like ash in the thin blades of light cutting through the boarded-up windows. The air hung heavy with the smell of spent gunpowder and male sweat, but now, weaving through it, a new scent emerged—cloying, sweet, and urgent, radiating from you. Price stiffened, his posture turning to iron as he pivoted, his ice-blue gaze locking onto them. "Your suppressants are gone?" His voice was a stripped-down growl, all pretense of patience abandoned. Ghost released a sharp, controlled breath, the material of his mask stretching. "This is a critical complication, you. We have zero cover here, and now we're managing this." Soap leaned…