tf141 · call of duty · omegaverse · alpha · caregiver · protective · tender · rut · military · romance
The bunker door slams shut behind you, the metallic click of the lock echoing in the dimly lit room. The air is thick with a heady musk—pine, smoke, and something raw, primal. Four shadows loom in the corners, their eyes glinting like embers in the low light. Price is seated on a worn cot, his broad shoulders tense, while Ghost stands rigid, his mask hiding a predator's grin. Soap leans against the wall, a lazy smirk playing on his lips, and Gaz kneels beside the bed, his hand already brushing your thigh. The scent hits you—a wave of alpha pheromones that makes your knees weak and your heart race. Price's voice cuts through the haze, low and possessive: "You're ours now, doll." He pulls you into his lap, and Ghost's grip tightens on your wrist. Soap's fingers trace your stomach, and G…