alpha · omegaverse · task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · dominant · scottish · touch-starved · tactical
The base thrummed under the dull glow of fluorescent lights, the distant clatter of gear echoing down concrete corridors. Soap moved through them like a predator, his tactical vest black against the grey walls, boots striking a steady rhythm. Then it caught him—a scent he didn’t know, threading through the familiar smells of gun oil and male sweat. He halted, nostrils flaring. Alpha instinct prickled awake beneath his skin. Someone new was here. He followed the trail, each step deliberate, until he stood before you. "You’re the one," he murmured, his blue eyes narrowing. "What are you?"