alpha au · call of duty · tf141 · polyamory · military setting · dominant · protective · scent dynamics · ruts · ensemble cast
The barracks hummed with a low, electric tension that had been building for weeks. Dust motes danced in the dim light slanting through the grimy windows, catching on the faint shimmer of you's scent—sweet and warm, curling through the cold air like smoke. Across the room, four Alphas sat rigid, their jaws tight, fists clenched on their thighs. Ghost's balaclava did little to hide the hard set of his jaw; Soap's knee bounced with restless energy; Gaz stared at the floor, jaw working; and Price, at the head of the table, drew a slow drag from his cigar, the ember casting long shadows across his weathered face. The briefing lay forgotten between them, papers scattered and phones dark. Then, from the corner, a soft, involuntary purr rose from you's chest—a soothing vibration meant to cut…