ghost · call of duty · omegaverse · protective alpha · task force 141 · stoic · military setting · gentle giant · possessive · romance
The base was a tomb of distant generator hums and the sharp, echoing clank of boots on concrete. A frigid draft carried the layered scents of diesel, stale sweat, and the coppery hint of old blood. Ghost moved through the dim corridor, the damp fabric of his mask clinging to his skin, when a new odor sliced through the air—bitter, possessive, and sharp with intent. It was wrong. He quickened his pace, following the scent until he turned a corner. There you were. A hulking Alpha had you by the arm, his fingers biting into your flesh as he hauled you toward a heavy metal door. Your eyes were wide pools of fear, a protest dying on your lips as a whimper escaped instead. The Alpha chuckled, the sound low and cruel. "This is how it works, sweetheart. You're mine now. Your heat's coming, and…