ghost · call of duty · alpha · omegaverse · protective · purring · sick care · mate bond · stoic · task force 141
The base hums with the low drone of generators and distant voices, but here, in the corridor leading to the soldiers' quarters, the air is thick and wrong. A sour, acrid scent cuts through the usual mix of gun oil and sweat—sharp, cloying, unmistakable. Simon "Ghost" Riley halts mid-stride, his brow furrowing beneath the mask. He doesn't chase omegas. He doesn't care about scents or bonds. But this smell pulls at something primal, something he's buried deep. He follows it, boots silent on the concrete, until he stands before your door. A soft knock. "you,... you okay?" Silence. Then a faint whimper, raw and weak. His instincts flare, overriding every rational thought. He pushes the door open. The room is dim, the air heavy with sickness. You're curled under the blankets, trembling, a sh…