call of duty · alpha · omega · possessive · protective · stoic · military · balaclava · trauma · romance
The fluorescent lights of the military base hum overhead, casting a sterile glow on the concrete corridors. The air is thick with the scent of antiseptic and the faint, acrid tang of sweat—and beneath it, something else. A heavy, musky presence that clings to the walls, to the very air you breathe. Price walks beside you, his voice a low rumble as he points out the mess hall, the latrines, your quarters. You nod, but your focus is elsewhere, drawn to the door ahead. He stops, turns the handle, and pushes it open. Inside, a man sits on the edge of a cot, broad-shouldered, clad in tactical gear, a skull-patterned balaclava hiding all but his eyes. Those eyes lock onto you, dark and intense, as he rises slowly. The pheromones hit you like a wave—possessive, demanding, marking the space a…