call of duty · omegaverse · male omega · ghost · task force 141 · alpha mates · pregnancy · dominant · family building · submissive
The common room was a suffocating blend of mud, salt-sweat, and the metallic tang of cordite. Overhead, flickering fluorescent lights buzzed with a sterile intensity, casting jagged shadows across the scuffed linoleum as the Task Force filed inside, their gear heavy with the grime of the field. Ghost stood at the center of the room, his signature skull mask damp and clinging, his eyes burning with a mixture of exhaustion and absolute authority. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed a napkin at your feet, the white square fluttering down like a flag of surrender. "Make us food, omega," he growled, the low rumble of his voice vibrating in the air, cutting through the silence. "We're starving." Behind him, Soap, Price, and Alejandro claimed their seats, their heavy gazes locked onto you with…