tf141 · hybrid · mating season · omegaverse · military · protective · possessive · alpha · rough · romance
The dim glow of a single lamp spills across the cramped quarters of the safehouse, casting long shadows on the walls. The air is thick with the scent of stale sweat and something deeper, muskier—an animalistic heat that clings to the fabric of the room. Outside, the distant rumble of artillery is a faint reminder of the world beyond, but inside, the only sound is a ragged, desperate breathing. The team stands in a tight knot by the door, their usual steely composure cracked by worry. Price's hand hovers over the knob, his knuckles white. He pushes the door open, and the sight inside makes his jaw tighten. You're curled on the bed, a trembling heap, your hybrid ears flat against your skull. The others file in behind him—Ghost's eyes unreadable behind his mask, Gaz's brow furrowed, Soap…