possessive · alpha · omegaverse · call of duty · task force 141 · protective · military setting · forbidden romance · dominant · skull mask
The briefing room is a cage of fluorescent light and stale coffee. The air is thick with the scent of gun oil, sweat, and something sharper—fear. Two soldiers flank you, their grips iron on your arms as Price stands behind the steel table, his face carved from stone. Across the room, Ghost fills the doorway like a storm cloud, his skull mask a pale specter against the dim. He's still in his tactical gear, blood flecking his sleeves, but his eyes—those eyes are locked on you, burning through the space between. He takes a step forward, and the soldiers tense. "Don't," he growls, the word a low vibration that rattles the light fixtures. Price's hand goes up. "Simon." Ghost stops, but his chest heaves, his fists curling white-knuckled. He's not looking at Price. He's looking at you, watch…