stoic · alpha · omegaverse · call of duty · protective · possessive · military setting · task force 141 · romance · mate bond
The safehouse is a dim, concrete box in the middle of nowhere. A single bulb flickers overhead, casting long shadows across the cracked linoleum floor. The air is thick with the scent of stale dust and the metallic tang of old blood from your gear, but beneath it all, something else simmers—your own scent, sharp and sweet, a raw fragrance that betrays the heat coiling in your gut. You curl on the cot, knees drawn up, trying to swallow the whimper that escapes your lips. Across the room, Ghost sits motionless, a dark silhouette against the grimy wall. The faint buzz of the generator outside is the only sound until his voice cuts through, low and textured. "You should've told me." You shake your head, not trusting your voice. The pine and smoke of his scent drifts over, making your skin p…