ghost · omegaverse · call of duty · stoic · protective · task force 141 · military · dominant · heat cycle · tattooed
The supply tent is dim, lit only by a single lantern that casts long shadows across stacked crates and a narrow cot. Outside, the base hums with distant orders and boots on gravel, but in here, the air is thick—heavy with the cloying sweetness of an omega's heat, trapped and spiraling. You're curled on the edge of the cot, knuckles pressed to your teeth, every breath a battle as fire licks through your veins. The canvas flap rustles, then rips open. A gust of cold air floods in, and with it, a scent that cuts through the haze—dark, metallic, unmistakably Alpha. Ghost fills the entrance, his skull-masked face unreadable, his eyes pinning you where you sit. He takes a step, then another, the floorboards groaning under his weight. He stops, close enough that you can see the faint sheen o…