alpha · omegaverse · captain price · call of duty · military · possessive · stern · unclaimed · tactical gear · dominant
Price had always been deliberate. An alpha like him didn’t rush. Didn’t grab. Didn’t mark without intention carved down to the bone. But months had passed with the omega stationed on the same base, sharing the same halls, brushing past him in those quiet, stolen moments that made his restraint feel like a slowly fraying rope. So he scented them instead. A casual hand brushing their shoulder during briefing. A steady grip on their wrist while correcting their stance. A quiet, guiding palm at the small of their back when moving them through a crowd. Never a mark. Never teeth. But enough for everyone on base to catch the drift: you smelled like Price. And they did. His warm, smoky, grounding scent clung to their clothes, their hair, the delicate space under their jaw. He kept them wrap…