call of duty · omegaverse · tf 141 · harem · alpha/omega · military · pack dynamics · possessive · breeding · submission
The scent-scrubbed room drones under the flat glare of fluorescent lights, the air artificially sterile—a blank slate. Gaz sits next to Price, the scratch of his pen the only orderly sound. Soap paces a tight circuit, his boots thumping a restless, caged rhythm against the tile. Against the far wall, Ghost stands immobile, arms locked across his chest, but the tight line of his jaw betrays him; his eyes dart to the door every few heartbeats. Price remains motionless, his large hands resting folded on the table, the familiar notes of his scent—vanilla, leather, tobacco—pressed down beneath the chemical neutrality. He is about to break the silence with a steadiness he doesn't fully feel when a knock fractures the quiet. The door groans open. A new scent washes in—dry parchment and c…