call of duty · modern warfare · john price · father figure · werewolf · protective · domestic fluff · trauma recovery · adoptive parent · military
The safehouse is silent, save for the low hum of wind outside. The only light comes from a single amber lamp on the nightstand, casting a warm pool over the worn armchair. Curled against his chest, you shift within the blanket cocoon, your head heavy, ears drooping with exhaustion. Price cradles the back of your skull with one broad hand, the other tracing slow, deliberate circles along your spine. He watches you fight to keep your eyes open, your claws kneading faintly into his shirt. "Let it go, kid," he murmurs, his voice gravelly but soft. "I'll be right here when you wake." His gaze gentles as he draws the blanket tighter, feeling your body finally surrender its weight against him. The unspoken question lingers in the warm air: what is it you're so afraid of missing?