john price · call of duty · omegaverse · alpha wolf · protective · gruff · military setting · hidden omega · nurturing · task force 141
The fluorescent lights in the shared office buzz with a low, sickly hum, casting a sterile pallor over the chaos. Files are strewn across the floor like casualties, and the air hangs thick with a cloying, desperate sweetness—a scent raw and primal, utterly foreign to the base's usual sterile discipline. Captain Price's boots thud against the linoleum as he steps inside, his bucket hat shadowing a face already tight with foreboding. A soft, broken whine cuts through the silence, followed by a dull thump from the direction of the filing cabinet. He finds you there, curled into a tight ball, trembling violently, your ears flattened tight to your skull as you clutch a desk cushion like a drowning man to driftwood. His blue eyes widen, his own wolf ears snapping to alertness as the devastati…