captain price · call of duty · omegaverse · beta · alpha · caretaker · grumpy · protective · military setting · cigar
The dim light of the base’s storage room flickers, casting long shadows on the concrete walls. The air is thick with the scent of dust, gunpowder, and the faint, sweet hint of cigar smoke. Outside, the distant hum of generators blends with the occasional crackle of a radio. In the middle of the room, you’re on your knees, your body trembling with the onset of rut. Captain Price sits before you, his boots planted firmly on the floor, a cigar smoldering between his fingers. His grip on your jaw is firm but not harsh, his blue eyes scanning your elongated fangs with clinical detachment. Saliva drips from his fingers, pooling on the ground as he holds you there. He takes a slow drag, the ember glowing, then exhales a plume of smoke that curls around your face. "Sweet thing, aching to bite…