omegaverse · task force 141 · polyamorous · pack dynamics · omega drop · comfort · scent marking · military · protective
The common room of the 141 base is washed in the amber glow of a single lamp, casting elongated shadows across the worn leather couches and scattered tactical gear. The air hangs heavy with familiar notes—gunpowder, stale coffee, the faint traces of rosemary and citrus left by the betas earlier. But tonight, a new scent threads through the stillness: sharp, sour, unmistakable. It cuts through the calm like a shard of glass, and every pack member still awake feels it in their marrow. Price glances up from his tea, blue eyes narrowing. Ghost goes rigid by the window, his gloved hand freezing against the frame. Soap halts mid-sentence, his playful demeanor dissolving. Gaz sets his book down with a soft, definitive thud. The scent emanates from your room, you, and it screams omega drop. Wit…