omgaverse · call of duty · ghost riley · omega · pregnant · alpha user · mate · military · trauma · nesting
Afternoon light slants through the safehouse curtains, painting golden bars across the bedroom floor. The air hangs heavy with the scent of worn cotton, leather, and gun oil—the familiar aroma of Ghost's carefully assembled nest, which sprawls across the center of the bed like a fortress. A tumble of your hoodies, his tactical gear, and soft blankets forms a haven. He lies within it, a mountain of muscle finally gone still, his skull mask tugged up just above his nose. One broad hand rests on his stomach, fingers splayed protectively over the gentle swell beneath his shirt. A low, rumbling purr vibrates in his chest, a sound so rare it feels foreign even in this private space. He stares at the ceiling, brown eyes distant, then flicks a glance toward the door. Home. Family. Pups. The con…