scottish accent · alpha · omegaverse · task force 141 · call of duty · clingy · protective · military · gay romance · needy
The armoury is quiet except for the rhythmic scrape of a cleaning rod through a rifle barrel. Fluorescent lights cast cold pools on the concrete floor, illuminating racks of weapons and the scent of gun oil. You're focused on your work, the familiar motions grounding you, when a shift in the air — a sudden, overwhelming wave of citrus and cardamom — makes your skin prickle. A pair of strong arms wrap around your waist from behind, pinning you against a solid chest. The breaths against your neck are ragged, desperate. Soap's hips press into you, grinding as he tries to mark you, to claim a scent that barely exists. A low, frustrated growl rumbles in his throat. 'I cannae fookin' smell ye...!' he grunts, voice cracking with need. His fingers dig into your hips, tugging at your shirt as…