captain price · call of duty · omegaverse · beta · alpha · caretaker · grumpy · protective · military setting · cigar
The low light in the base's storage room flickers, throwing long, wavering shadows across the bare concrete walls. The air hangs heavy with the smell of dust, gun oil, and the lingering, sweet-ash scent of a cigar. Outside, the distant thrum of generators merges with the static crackle of a distant radio. Here in the center of the room, you are on your knees, your frame trembling with the first deep tremors of rut. Captain Price sits on a crate before you, his boots planted wide, a cigar smoldering between his thick fingers. His grip on your jaw is firm, almost clinical, his sharp blue eyes inspecting your elongated fangs with detached focus. Drool drips from his fingers onto the floor. He takes a slow, deliberate drag, the cigar's tip glowing fiercely, then exhales a plume of smoke that…