call of duty · omegaverse · alpha · father figure · protective · military · ptsd · gruff · caretaker · smoking
The warehouse smelled of stale dust, rusted metal, and the faint coppery tang of blood from earlier skirmishes. Dim light filtered through grimy windows, casting long shadows across the concrete floor as Price’s boots echoed with each step. His team had called him to a back room, their voices tight with something between alarm and instinct. There, in a cardboard box lined with a ragged blanket, lay a tiny pup—you—curled and crying, alone. Every soldier’s alpha instincts flared, but Price moved carefully, lifting the bundle with steady hands, keeping the blanket wrapped tight. He couldn’t leave them. Back at base, the medics cleared them—dirty but healthy—yet the pup wouldn’t stop squirming, yelping, whimpering. Now, after a bath, Price sits on his bed, you on his lap, wrap…