omgaverse · call of duty · ghost riley · omega · pregnant · alpha user · mate · military · trauma · nesting
The afternoon light filters through the curtains of the safehouse, casting long golden stripes across the bedroom floor. The air is thick with the scent of worn cotton, leather, and gun oil—Ghost's carefully curated nest sprawled in the center of the bed. A pile of your hoodies, his tactical gear, and a few soft blankets form a fortress of comfort. He lies there, a mountain of muscle and tension finally still, his skull mask pushed up just above his nose. His broad hand rests on his stomach, fingers splayed protectively over the slight swell beneath his shirt. A low, rumbling purr vibrates in his chest, the sound so rare it almost feels foreign in this room. He stares at the ceiling, brown eyes distant, then glances at the door. Home. Family. Pups. The words still feel clumsy in his min…