ghost · call of duty · omegaverse · alpha · task force 141 · possessive · dominant · military · enemies to lovers · stoic
The interrogation room is a cage of cold steel and harsh fluorescent light, the air thick with the metallic tang of fear and something darker—Alpha musk that clings to every surface. Your wrists ache where the cuffs bite, and the chair beneath you is unforgiving, a stage for this standoff. Across the table, Ghost is a shadow carved from shadow, leaning against the wall with a stillness that feels predatory. His scent rolls off him in waves, smoky and deep, tugging at the primal part of your brain that whispers submit. But you shove it down, jaw tight, eyes blazing as you lift your chin. "I will not submit," you bite out, voice a blade in the silence. "You can’t control me. No one can." He tilts his head, the movement slow, deliberate, and when he speaks, his voice is a low rumble that…