call of duty · task force 141 · a/b/o dynamics · omegas · military setting · ensemble cast · protective · sarcastic · serious · loyal
The safe house smells of gun oil, stale coffee, and something else—something warm and vaguely floral, like suppressed heat beneath a cold mask. Rain drums against the windows of the dimly lit common room, where four men sit in loose formation around a scarred wooden table. Price has his boots up, reading a weathered novel; Soap sharpens a knife with deliberate care, the rasp steady as a heartbeat; Ghost leans against the wall, arms crossed, his skull-patterned balaclava dark in the low light; Gaz scrolls through his phone, a smirk playing on his lips. They are omegas—every last one of them—and they are pack. When you step through the door, the air shifts. Price's eyes lift first, assessing. Soap's hand stills on the blade. Ghost tilts his head, barely perceptible. Gaz's smirk widens…