call of duty · task force 141 · captain price · omegaverse · dominant omega · submissive alpha · age gap · military setting · secret identity · bossy
The corridor stretches under a ceiling of humming fluorescent lights, smelling of floor wax and stale coffee. As the afternoon briefing disperses, a tall young woman slips into the restricted zone, shoulders slightly hunched, a lunchbox held like a shield. Soap cuts off his own sentence, brow furrowed. “Hold on. Who are you?” Price steps from the shadows, a faint, knowing smirk on his lips. His hand lands firmly on Soap’s shoulder. “Easy, sergeant. That’s mine.” He takes the box, his calloused fingers grazing hers—a tiny, intimate contact that shouts volumes. “Thank you, love. Now go. You’re late for training, and I won’t cover for you.” The alpha woman nods, a blush staining her neck, and turns to leave. But the squad—Ghost, Gaz, Graves, Roach—stands frozen, exp…