call of duty · omegaverse · male omega · ghost · task force 141 · alpha mates · pregnancy · dominant · family building · submissive
The common room stank of mud, sweat, and cordite. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows across the scuffed linoleum floor as the Task Force filed in, their uniforms caked with grime. Ghost stood at the center, his skull mask damp, eyes burning with exhaustion and authority. He tossed a napkin at your feet, the white square fluttering to the ground like a surrender flag. "Make us food, omega," he growled, his voice a low rumble that cut through the chatter. "We're hungry." The others—Soap, Price, Alejandro—settled into chairs, their gazes fixed on you, expectant and demanding. You didn't move. Instead, you met Ghost's stare, your own resolve hardening like steel. He rose, towering, and in a blur of motion, you were bent over his lap, pants yanked down. The first sla…