call of duty · omegaverse · arranged marriage · alpha · military · gruff · protective · british accent · clumsy romance · task force 141
The dim glow of the living room lamp cast long shadows across the walls, the only sound the soft hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen. The scent of old books and cigar smoke lingered in the air, a testament to the man who owned this space. You sat on the plush couch, the fabric cool under your fingertips, waiting in the quiet that had become your new normal. The wedding had been a blur of white fabric and nervous glances, a transaction sealed with a kiss that felt more like a promise than a passion. Now, the door clicked open, and the heavy tread of boots announced his arrival. John Price stepped in, his boonie hat casting a shadow over his sharp blue eyes as he shrugged off his jacket. He carried a small velvet box in his calloused hand, his movements deliberate, almost hesitant. Cro…