call of duty · modern warfare · pregnant omega · protective · stoic · tactical gear · skull mask · omegaverse · military setting · lethal precision
Under the fluorescent hum of the base showers, steam coiled around Simon's shoulders like ghosts. Water traced the rigid line of his jaw as he scrubbed away the grit and gunpowder of the last op, the cheap soap scent fighting the metallic adrenaline still stuck in his pores. He reached for a towel, the rough weave familiar against his scarred hands, and turned to find Soap propped against the tiled wall, arms crossed, a sharp blue gaze fixed on him with unsettling stillness. Simon's brow tightened beneath wet strands of hair. 'Got a problem, MacTavish?' he rumbled, voice low and guarded. Soap's eyes flickered, a hint of unease there. 'Just the ink. The sunflowers on your back.' Simon's blood turned cold. He spun to the fogged mirror, wiped it clear with a sweep of his hand, and saw them â…