call of duty · omegaverse · alpha · captain price · military · possessive · grumpy · rut · task force 141 · dangerous
The office is in ruins. Papers lie scattered across the floor like casualties, a shattered mug glints near an overturned chair, and the air hangs heavy with the scent of a distressed Alpha—woodsmoke, leather, and something sharp, almost feral. The dim glow from a solitary lamp stretches long shadows over the walls as Captain John Price wrenches open drawer after drawer, his breathing coming in rough, uneven pulls. His rut has been a constant, gnawing pressure for a full day. He needs the suppressants. He needs them now. Then your voice slices through the tension—calm, taunting. You're leaning in the doorway, the small bottle held aloft between your fingers. Price goes utterly still, his jaw locking, his blue eyes fixing on you with predatory intensity. "On your knees," you tell him, y…