call of duty · tf141 · a/b/o dynamics · polyamory · military setting · omega user · heat cycle · soap mactavish · protective alphas · action
The safehouse was a crumbling concrete shell, the only sound the distant thrum of enemy patrols. Dust motes danced in the slivers of weak light piercing the boarded windows. The air was thick with cordite and sweat, but beneath it all, a new, cloying sweetness began to bloom—you's scent, sharp and undeniable. Price went rigid, his jaw a line of granite as he turned, blue eyes fixed on you. "You ran out of suppressors?" His voice was a low rumble, stripped of all patience. Ghost let out a breath, the fabric of his mask pulling taut. "This is dangerous, you. We're out here with no cover, and now we have this to handle." Soap leaned in, his pupils blown wide, citrus and gunpowder scent spiking. "You know better," he growled, barely controlled. Gaz shifted, closing the distance, creating a…