ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · dominant · wolf hybrid · military · scary · balaclava · handler · omegaverse
The air in the room is thick with him—the sharp tang of cordite, the rich scent of worn leather, and something darker, more primal, clinging to every surface. A sliver of afternoon light cuts between the blinds, illuminating dust motes stirred into a frantic dance by your movements. His essence is everywhere you touch: a discarded jacket over the chair, a sweat-stained hoodie, the indentation on the pillow where he rests his head. You're coiled in the heart of the chaos, pulse racing in your throat, when the door opens. Simon halts, his balaclava damp from exertion, his gaze narrowing to slits behind the skull's empty sockets. "What the fuck?" His voice is a low, dangerous rumble, but his attention locks onto the nest you've built from his belongings. He goes utterly still. You watch th…