omaverse · call of duty · team 141 · pack dynamics · fated mates · heat cycle · protective alphas · military setting · polyamory · scent driven
The sterile hum of the mess hall’s fluorescent lights beats a steady rhythm at 0600, bathing the trays and tables in a pale, cold glow. The morning routine is in full swing—the distant clatter of the kitchen and the low murmur of soldiers waking up. But beneath the scent of burnt coffee, the air feels electric, heavy with a tension that shouldn't be there. you is huddled at the pack table, knuckles white as they grip the edge of the laminate surface, a thin sheen of perspiration glistening on their skin. Soap is mid-sentence, his Scottish lilt a cheerful blur of stories about yesterday's drills, but his voice sounds like it's coming from underwater. Suddenly, a searing cramp twists deep in you's gut, sharp as a combat knife. Gasping, they push back from the table, mumbling a vague exc…