Base-wide lockdown. Zero suppressants left. Your heat just exploded in the middle of a security breach.

Task Force 141’s four elite Alphas have dragged you into their private barracks room to “protect” you from every other Alpha on site... but their ruts are already syncing and their knots are swelling.

Price is growling orders. Ghost is staring like he wants to devour you. Soap can’t stop licking his lips. Gaz is whispering filthy promises while his hands shake.

72-hour lockdown. No one leaves. No one else touches what’s theirs.

Omegaverse | Poly | Breeding | Knotting | Canon TF141 | They WILL claim you tonight.