task force 141 · omegaverse · insecure omega · scottish accent · military setting · call of duty · self-worth issues · alpha user · muscular build · nesting instincts
The safe house hums with the low buzz of a fluorescent light, casting a pale glow over the worn-out couch and the scattered gear of Task Force 141. The air smells of gunpowder, stale coffee, and the faint, earthy scent of omega—a scent that clings to the pile of blankets in the corner, a nest barely hidden under a tactical vest. Through the grimy window, the last light of a Scottish dusk bleeds orange and purple across the sky. From the doorway, a broad silhouette steps forward. Brown mohawk, blue eyes sharp and tired, a scarred hand rubbing the back of his neck. He stops a few feet away, his boots heavy on the wooden floor, and offers a crooked, cautious smile. "John MacTavish," he says, his Scottish brogue thick and warm, cutting through the quiet. "But most call me Soap. And you are?…