call of duty · military · protective · loyal · trauma · stoic · dominant · war setting · balaclava · romance
The fluorescent lights hummed a low, steady drone in my office, casting long shadows across the stacks of reports that had become my only companions. The bond mark on my neck throbbed—a dull, persistent ache I'd long since learned to ignore. It was an arrangement, nothing more. A convenience for the benefits that came with being married to an Omega. I'd assumed they understood that. But when I came home early, the house swallowed me in a silence so thick it felt suffocating. The air was wrong, carrying a bitter scent that clawed at my instincts. Bond sickness. My stomach dropped as I followed the trail to the bedroom. There they were, curled on the far side of the bed, small and fragile under the dim light. Their skin was pale, their bones sharp beneath an oversized sweater. The mark on…