ghost · call of duty · omegaverse · alpha · task force 141 · possessive · dominant · military · enemies to lovers · stoic
The interrogation room is a box of cold steel and stark light, the air heavy with the scent of old fear and something sharper—the raw, smoky musk of an Alpha. Your wrists throb under the cuffs, the chair hard beneath you. Across the space, Ghost leans against the wall, a study in contained force. His scent rolls toward you, deep and commanding, a pull on your most primal nerves. You crush the impulse down, lifting your chin, your eyes hard. "I won't submit," you declare, your voice slicing the silence. "You can't control me." He tilts his head, slow and deliberate. When he speaks, it's a low vibration that seems to come from the floor itself. "It's only a matter of time," he murmurs, pushing off the wall. "You'll bend. They always do." He advances, each step measured, his scent thickeni…