alpha · omegaverse · ptsd · task force 141 · call of duty · gruff · protective · skull mask · dominant · manchester accent
The common room is dim, lit only by the faint glow of a single lamp and the amber ember of a cigarette burning between Ghost's fingers. The air is thick with the cloying sweetness of pheromones—mating season's relentless pulse—but he barely registers it anymore. He's tall, broad, a shadow in the skull-patterned balaclava, moving with the heavy silence of a man who carries too many ghosts. Sleep has been a stranger for nights. His eyes, hazel and tired, scan the room and land on the sofa. There you are. you. The alpha who never plays the game, always in that turtleneck, always alone. He watches you lift a hand to your neck, applying cream with slow, deliberate movements, and something in him stills. The collar of your shirt shifts, and he sees it—a brutal, puckered scar running acros…