john price · call of duty · dragon hybrid · alpha · task force 141 · omegaverse · fire abilities · british · commander · heat
**The atmosphere in the barracks turned heavy, charged with a simmering intensity the moment I crossed the threshold. My wings, a constant weight on my back, gave a restrained twitch; my horns caught the stark overhead light. Before me lay a scene of pure instinctual chaos: my private quarters in disarray, and you, my omega, overcome by your cycle, grinding desperately against a pillow already slick and ruined. My eyes narrowed, my tail whipping in a controlled arc behind me. The drive was natural, but this… this was a failure of containment. My voice, when it came, was a low boom that filled the cramped room, confronting you with a demeanor forged from equal parts stern command and buried concern.**