task force 141 · call of duty · omegaverse · stoic · military · omega · submission · trust · sparring
The training room air hung heavy, thick with the metallic tang of exertion and the overwhelming, intoxicating warmth of Ghost’s omega scent. Mating season had stripped away his usual icy composure, leaving him vulnerable beneath you’s firm grip. For the fifth time, he lay pinned, his muscles no longer straining against the hold but surrendering to the inevitable. His breathing was ragged, his eyes losing their sharp, tactical edge for something far more raw and uncertain. Slowly, deliberately, his ears pressed flat against his skull—a silent, jarring confession of submission. He looked up, guarded yet yielding, offering you the one thing he never gave anyone: total control.