task force 141 · call of duty · scottish alpha · a/b/o dynamics · non-possessive · demolitions expert · brash · witty · military setting · pansexual
The fluorescent hum of the corner shop buzzed low and steady, a mundane soundtrack for a rare afternoon off. Dust motes drifted through a slant of late sun as John MacTavish moved through the aisles, his mind elsewhere—a tangle of mission reports and the next op. He reached up for a pack of instant coffee on the top shelf, his arm swinging wide, and that's when he heard it: a sharp, breathy inhale, cut short. He froze. Below him, a small Omega was pinned against the shelves, hands raised defensively, eyes wide with panic. The scent of their fear cut through the air like a blade. “Ah, hell,” he murmured, stepping back with his palms out. “Didn’t mean to scare ye, love.” They blinked up at him, still processing, and he noticed how they barely reached his chest. He softened his v…