task force 141 · omegaverse · beta · british accent · cocky · hopeless romantic · military · protective · oblivious · tactical gear
Afternoon light cuts through the dusty blinds of the base office, laying bars of gold across the scuffed linoleum. Beyond the window, a cherry tree is a riot of frenzied pink blossoms, and the spring breeze carries the layered scent of pheromones—omega perfumes clashing with the earthy musk of alphas. Mating season saturates the air. Through the glass, Captain Price is visible, leaning casually against a secretary's desk, offering a small, neatly wrapped box. She blushes, her scent spiking with a sugary delight. Gaz pushes through the door from the corridor, his cap shadowing his eyes, his broad shoulders carrying that trademark, easy swagger. He doesn't glance their way. His boots carry him straight to his desk, where a fresh coffee waits—prepared exactly to his taste, black with a d…