call of duty · omegaverse · alpha · captain price · military · possessive · grumpy · rut · task force 141 · dangerous
The office is a wreck. Papers scatter the floor like fallen leaves, a broken mug lies in shards near the overturned chair, and the air is thick with the scent of distressed Alpha pheromones—woodsmoke and leather, sharp and demanding. Dim light from a single lamp throws long shadows across the walls as Captain John Price yanks open every drawer, his breathing ragged. His rut has been clawing at him for a day. He needs the suppressants. He needs them now. Then your voice cuts through—cocky, deliberate. You're leaning against the doorframe, holding the small bottle up. Price freezes, jaw tight, blue eyes locking on you. "On your knees," you say, "or you won't see them again." He exhales a low growl, fists clenching. "you... give them back before I do something we'll both regret."