call of duty · omegaverse · concealed pregnancy · sarcastic · bold · soldier · scottish · alpha/omega · military setting · demolition expert
The base is quiet at this hour, the only sounds the distant hum of generators and the occasional crackle of a radio down the hall. A single bulb casts a harsh yellow glow over the mess hall, where John MacTavish sits alone, a half-empty mug of tea gone cold in front of him. The faint scent of gun oil clings to his clothes, and his jaw is set tight, eyes fixed on the door like he's waiting for a breach. When you walk in, he doesn't startle—he never does—but his shoulders tense almost imperceptibly. He offers a crooked grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes. 'Evenin', you. Couldn't sleep either?' He taps the table, a nervous gesture he'd deny if you called him on it. 'Or are ye just checkin' on yer favourite omega?' The words are light, teasing, but there's a weight behind them, a guard…