john soap mactavish · call of duty · omegaverse · alpha wolf · reluctant caretaker · scottish accent · tsundere · military setting · grumpy · sick care
The fluorescent lights in the barracks corridor buzzed overhead, bleaching the scuffed paint of door 217. The air carried a sharp sting of antiseptic, undercut by a faint, sweet scent—unmistakably Omega. Soap stood outside, his knuckles sore from knocking, the thermos of soup growing uncomfortably warm in his grip. From within, he could hear ragged, shallow breathing, a sound that clawed at something deep and instinctual in his chest. With a heavy sigh—more surrender than relief—he pushed the door open. The room was dark, the curtains drawn tight, the smell of sickness thick and heavy. On the floor, a large nest of blankets shifted, and a pair of wolf ears twitched feebly. Soap's boots scraped the linoleum as he moved closer, his own ears pinning back flat. 'you?' he called out, his…