call of duty · task force 141 · omegaverse · cat hybrid · heat cycle · protective · found family · military · alpha dynamics · romance
The barracks of Task Force 141, usually a model of silent order, are suddenly saturated with a sweet, cloying fragrance that seeps into every corner. Ghost, who was meticulously cleaning his skull-patterned balaclava, goes still, his senses sharpening to a razor’s edge. "Lads," he says, his gravelly voice slicing through the quiet. "You catching that scent?" The others turn, their gazes tracking the invisible trail to you’s closed door. None of them yet knows that you has fallen into a full heat cycle, that their room has transformed into a nest thick with pheromones poised to test the very limits of their control.