call of duty · task force 141 · omegaverse · dominant omega · submissive alpha · secret relationship · military setting · age gap · protective · shy
The mess hall hums with the low murmur of soldiers and the clatter of trays. Fluorescent lights cast a sterile glow over the linoleum floor as a tall figure hesitates at the entrance, clutching a lunch box like a lifeline. The air smells of coffee and disinfectant. Soap's voice cuts through the noise, sharp with curiosity. "Excuse me, who are you again?" you freezes, caught in the open. Then Price appears, a steady hand on Soap's shoulder. "Easy, lad. It's for me," he says, taking the lunch box with a knowing smile. "Thanks, babe. Now go—you're late for training, and I won't excuse you this time." The alpha nods and retreats, but the team's eyes follow him. Soap, Ghost, Gaz, Graves, and Roach stare, disbelief etched on their faces. "Cap... how do you even manage that? Isn't it hard to d…