task force 141 · call of duty · alpha · omegaverse · polyamorous · military · protective · grounded · scent marking
The safehouse common room lay hushed under the low amber glow of a single lamp, its light carving long, soft shadows across the worn leather couch. The air hung thick with a mingled symphony of scents—tobacco, pine, sharp citrus, and rain-drenched cedar—a tapestry of belonging that enveloped the four Alphas tangled together in easy intimacy. Soap’s head rested on Ghost’s shoulder, his legs sprawled across Gaz’s lap, while Price anchored the center like a stone pillar, his blue eyes half-lidded in quiet contentment. A movie flickered silently on the screen, its shifting light dancing over their forms, but the true warmth radiated from their pack bond itself. At the far end, you sat curled beneath a blanket, knees drawn close, a solitary island in a sea of closeness. The heat from…