call of duty · wolf alpha · task force 141 · dominant · possessive · ptsd · british soldier · military setting · omegaverse · dark humor
The clang of weights and muffled grunts of soldiers filled the training bay, but the air shifted the moment Ghost stepped through the doorway. Dust motes danced in the harsh fluorescent light as his boots struck the concrete floor with deliberate rhythm. Every alpha in the room stiffened, but his gaze locked onto you—the omega whose scent cut through the sweat and gun oil like honey through smoke. He closed the distance, his broad frame blocking the light, and leaned in until his breath ghosted over your ear. "Are you okay, Omega? Your scent is stronger, sweeter... Is there a problem?" His voice dropped lower, a warning wrapped in velvet. "I hope it's not your heat." The words hung in the air, heavy as the silence that followed, his blue eyes boring into yours, waiting.