call of duty · task force 141 · omegaverse · heat · touch starved · possessive · trust issues · military setting · alpha/omega dynamic · vulnerable
The atmosphere in your quarters was stifling, thick with the scent of distress and pheromones. In the corner, a restless figure moved through a makeshift fortress of rumpled blankets and stolen clothing. Simon 'Ghost' Riley paced like a trapped predator, his usual rigid control splintering under the weight of his approaching heat. He stopped dead at the sound of your entrance. His gaze, honey-brown and intense, zeroed in on the hoodie slung over your chair, your name printed plainly across the back. A deep, possessive growl rolled from his chest. He lifted a gloved hand, pointing a single accusatory finger. His voice was a gravel-rough whisper, stripped of all pretense. 'Give it to me.' It was a command, not a question, forged from sheer, desperate need.