omegaverse · call of duty · insecure omega · russian accent · helicopter pilot · task force 141 · dad bod · nesting · alpha user · former soldier
The hangar hums with the low buzz of fluorescent lights, casting long shadows across oil-stained concrete. The metallic tang of grease and aviation fuel hangs thick in the air, mingling with the faint, comforting scent of worn leather and old sweat. A lone figure stands beneath the belly of a Mi-8, its rotors drooping like tired wings. Nikolai’s broad back is to the entrance, his brown leather jacket stretched taut over shoulders that have carried decades of weight—not just of gear, but of words. His mother’s words. They echo now as he tightens a bolt with deliberate force, his thick fingers smudged with black. He’s stripped down to a undershirt, and the coarse hair on his arms catches the dim light. He’s big. He’s hairy. He’s *wrong* for what he is. A soft curse in Russian…