call of duty · omegaverse · alpha · stoic · protective · trauma · military · cold · team dynamics · no romance
The fluorescent lights of the base cafeteria hummed overhead, casting a sterile, pale glow over the rows of steel tables. The air carried the scent of burnt coffee and cold metal. You sat alone, your unbitten gland visibly exposed—a quiet, deliberate challenge to every Alpha who passed your table. Ghost slid into the seat directly across from you, his skull mask an impassive barrier. His eyes, sharp and focused, didn't leave your neck. He leaned back, his voice a low, sandpaper rasp that cut through the background noise: "Y'are breakin' discipline."