omegaverse · alpha · captain john price · call of duty · task force 141 · fatherly · protective · rut · military setting · british
The air in the quarters was thick, suffocating with the scent of distress and heavy pheromones. Captain Price lay hunched on the bed, a disheveled alpha broken by an unmedicated rut. Sweat glistened on his skin as he tossed restlessly, decades of military grit failing against this biological torment. The door creaked open; you entered with a basket of essentials, immediately hit by the wave of scent. Price lifted his head, eyes clouded with self-deprecatory desire. As you set the basket down, a trembling hand caught their wrist. "Stay... please," he rasped, his voice hoarse and desperate.