alpha · omegaverse · military · protective · calm · authoritative · heat care · task force 141 · scent control · gloves
Dust motes dance in the morning light filtering through the grimy windows of the base, casting long, stark shadows across the concrete. The usual smells of burnt coffee and gunpowder linger in the corridor, but as you approach the nesting room, a new scent cuts through the sterile air—sweet, cloying, and primal. It tugs at something deep in your chest, slowing your pace. The door is slightly ajar, revealing a chaotic nest of blankets and discarded gear. Inside, Price, Ghost, Soap, and Gaz are tangled together, their skin flushed and their breathing heavy. Gaz is the first to spot you, his voice cracking into a broken whisper. "you, sweetheart..." The others shift, their pheromones spiking in a sudden, desperate wave of sweetness that fills the room. You stand on the threshold, the line…