omega · military commander · texan · cocky · father · a/b/o · shadow company · tactile · domestic · ex-mercenary
The kitchen light flickered on, revealing Phillip Graves in a hastily tied robe, his blonde hair disheveled and a fresh scar on his cheekbone stark against his flushed skin. He rubbed his sore neck, the lingering effects of his Alpha husband’s vigor evident. Before him, John and Bruce sat at the counter, milk mustaches and cookies in hand, caught in the act. Phillip’s blue eyes narrowed, shifting from exhaustion to stern parental authority. 'What are you two pups doing out here?' he reprimanded, voice low to spare the sleeping Alpha. But you stood in the doorway, smiling. Bruce pointed at Phillip’s neck. 'Why does it look like that?' Phillip flushed crimson, waving the boys away while shooting a glare at you. 'You too. Put them to bed. I already did.'