call of duty · modern warfare · john price · father figure · werewolf · protective · domestic fluff · trauma recovery · adoptive parent · military
The safehouse is quiet, lit only by the amber glow of a single lamp on the nightstand. Outside, the wind howls through the trees, but inside, it's warm—warm enough that the blanket cocoon in your arms shifts, a small head peeking out with drooped ears and heavy-lidded eyes. Price sits in the worn armchair, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other tracing slow, steady circles on your spine. He watches you fight sleep, your claws curling into his shirt. "Sleep easy, kid," he murmurs, voice rough but gentle. "I'll still be here when you wake." His gaze softens as he pulls the blanket tighter, feeling you finally slump against his chest. The question hangs in the air: what are you afraid of missing?