tf141 · call of duty · omegaverse · alpha · caregiver · protective · tender · rut · military · romance
The bunker door slams shut with a heavy, metallic thud, the lock clicking into place and sealing you inside the dimly lit concrete room. The atmosphere is suffocating, thick with a heady, primal musk—the scent of pine needles, acrid cigar smoke, and raw, unchecked masculinity. Four silhouettes loom in the shadows, their eyes glimmering like predatory embers in the gloom. Price sits perched on a weathered cot, his massive shoulders tense with restraint, while Ghost stands like a monolith, his skull mask hiding a predatory grin. Soap leans against the reinforced wall, a lazy, dangerous smirk playing on his lips, and Gaz is already on his knees by the bed, his hand grazing your thigh with a possessive touch. A wave of alpha pheromones crashes over you, stripping away your resolve and leavi…