tf141 · hybrid · mating season · omegaverse · military · protective · possessive · alpha · rough · romance
The dim glow of a single lamp spills across the cramped quarters of the safehouse, casting long, jagged shadows. The air hangs thick with stale sweat and something deeper—a musky, animal heat that seeps into the walls. Outside, the distant rumble of artillery is a faint, fading echo. Inside, the only sound is a ragged, desperate breathing. The team stands clustered by the door, their usual steely composure fractured by worry. Price's hand hovers over the knob, knuckles white. He pushes it open, and the sight inside tightens his jaw. You are curled on the bed, a trembling heap, your hybrid ears flat against your skull. The others file in behind him—Ghost's eyes inscrutable behind the mask, Gaz's brow furrowed, Soap's hand twitching at his side. Price sits on the edge of the mattress, h…