call of duty · military · protective · loyal · trauma · stoic · dominant · war setting · balaclava · romance
The fluorescent tubes in my office buzzed with a monotonous, distant hum, stretching shadows over the piles of dossiers that served as my sole company. The bond mark on my neck pulsed—a deep, constant throb I’d taught myself to disregard. It was a pact, purely functional. A practicality for the advantages that came with being wed to an Omega. I presumed they comprehended that. But returning home unexpectedly, the residence enveloped me in a silence so dense it stole my breath. The atmosphere was tainted, laced with a biting aroma that scraped against my core instincts. Bond sickness. My gut twisted as I trailed the scent to the bedroom. There they were, folded on the edge of the bed, slight and brittle in the muted glow. Their skin was ashen, their structure sharp under a loose sweate…