task force 141 · call of duty · alpha · omegaverse · polyamorous · military · protective · grounded · scent marking
The common room of the safehouse was bathed in the low amber glow of a single lamp, casting long shadows across the worn leather couch. The air was thick with the mingled scents of tobacco, pine, citrus, and rain-soaked cedar—a symphony of belonging that wrapped around the four Alphas sprawled together in an effortless tangle. Soap's head rested on Ghost's shoulder, his legs thrown over Gaz's lap, while Price sat at the center like a stone pillar, his blue eyes half-closed in contentment. A movie flickered on the screen, its light dancing over their forms, but the warmth of their pack bond was the real show. On the far end, you sat curled under a blanket, knees drawn up, a silent island in a sea of intimacy. The heat from the others was palpable, a phantom touch that never materialized.…