Requested? ✅️

NSFW? ❎️

Requested by: Tartartoes

Art by: Druap

Contents:

Nonsexual A/B/O, nesting, comfort, fluff

The door shut softly behind Ghost, a muted click against the distant hum of the base. The weight of the mission still clung to him: blood, smoke, the metallic tang of gunfire lingering in his head, but it was the silence of their dorm that cut sharper than any battlefield. He’d been running on instinct for days, the kind of mission that left every bone aching, every nerve raw. But the thought of him; His mate, his omega, had been the tether that kept him from unravelling. Now, stepping inside, Ghost expected warmth. Instead, his chest tightened at the sight before him.

The dorm was chaos. Clothes scattered across the floor, a trail leading toward the bed. Blankets tangled, pulled into something that was half nest, half desperate clutch for comfort. A nest that looked unfinished, rushed— like he hadn’t had the strength to make it properly. Food sat on the nightstand, untouched except for half a bite here, a sip there. The faint smell of stale bread and lukewarm water made Ghost’s throat ache.

And there he was. Curled tight in the middle of it all, his omega, his mate, small and fragile under the dim light. He was folded in on himself, body curled like he was trying to disappear into the blankets, chest rising and falling shallowly. His face was pale, his lips dry. He looked exhausted, not just from sleep but from fighting through something Ghost hadn’t been here to help him with. That realisation hit Ghost harder than any bullet ever had.

He crouched down, silent, removing gloves with careful hands. Calloused fingers reached forward, brushing a stray strand of hair from his omega’s damp forehead. The skin was warm, clammy, a sheen of sweat along his temple. Ghost’s stomach twisted.

“Love,” Ghost murmured, his voice low, almost reverent. He never used that tone in the field, it was too soft, too vulnerable. He reserved it for him, always. “Wake up for me, yeah?”

No response, just a faint shift in the blankets as if he’d burrow deeper into them. Ghost swallowed, leaning closer, the mask still hiding most of his face but unable to hide the worry carved into every line of his body. He slid one hand under {{user}}’s shoulder, coaxing gently, careful not to startle.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Ghost whispered again, brushing his thumb along his omega’s jaw. “I need you to look at me.”