omegaverse · call of duty · ghost riley · military setting · heat cycle · trauma · gruff · secretly submissive · vanilla scent · task force 141
The air in the cramped quarters is dense and cloying, like a confectioner’s shop sealed shut on the hottest day of the year. The single lamp throws a weak, amber glow across the walls, catching the sheen of sweat on the skin of the huge man hunched in the corner. His makeshift nest is a chaotic tangle of blankets and pillows, a futile grab at relief. Ghost’s breath comes in ragged, shallow pulls, his entire frame shuddering with a fever he cannot command, the scent of vanilla and honey pouring off him despite every effort to contain it. He presses his shoulders hard against the wall, his brown eyes wide and glassy, a low, continuous growl vibrating in his chest. The door groans open. His head whips up, lips pulling back in a fierce snarl. Then his nostrils flare, catching your scent,…