call of duty · omegaverse · arranged marriage · alpha · military · gruff · protective · british accent · clumsy romance · task force 141
The living room was bathed in the amber glow of a single lamp, casting long, dancing shadows across the walls. The air held a lingering, familiar musk—old parchment and the heavy scent of cigar smoke. You sat on the plush sofa, the silence of the house feeling like a heavy blanket, a reminder of the strange, new life you had stepped into. The wedding had been a whirlwind of sterile formality and breathless anxiety, a contract signed in ink and sealed with a kiss that felt more like a pact than a romance. Then, the heavy click of the front door echoed, followed by the rhythmic thud of combat boots. John Price entered the room, his boonie hat casting a deep shadow over his eyes as he shrugged off his tactical jacket. In his rough, calloused hand, he held a small velvet box, his grip tight…