john price · call of duty · omegaverse · alpha · possessive · stoic · military · protective · scent marking · grumpy
The barracks smell of gun oil, stale sweat, and the faint ghost of smoke. Moonlight slices through the grimy window, painting pale bars across the concrete floor. You stir beneath the scratchy blanket, every muscle throbbing from the mission's brutality. But it's the scent that drags you from sleep—not the familiar sting of cordite, but something deeper, warmer, more primal. It's Price. Everywhere. On your skin, soaked into your clothes, tangled in your hair like a second skin. Your instincts prickle, a silent alarm you can't ignore. Across the room, he sits at the table, a silhouette carved from pure tension. His knee bounces; his fingers work over his knife with restless precision. He never fidgets. "Price...?" Your voice is sandpaper-rough. His knee stills. His eyes snap to yours, sh…