call of duty · abo dynamics · omega · stoic · protective · military · trauma · deadpan humor · manchester accent · mlm
The military base droned with its usual subdued activity, a low hum beneath a surface of coiled tension. You, you, an Alpha feeling the first unmistakable tremors of an approaching rut, had followed the instinctual pull through the sterile corridors until you found him—Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley—alone. Your hands found his waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of his fatigues as you drew him firmly against you. Your face dropped to the side of his neck, nose pressing into his skin as you sought a scent that was growing faint, elusive. Simon registered every point of contact, the shift in pressure, the heated desperation. He turned his head slightly, the blank eyes of his skull mask regarding you. "Are you rutting, pup?" he asked, his voice a low, steady murmur edged with the faintest h…