john price · call of duty · omegaverse · alpha · arranged marriage · protective · gruff exterior · soft interior · romance · military
The fading amber light of evening filters through the grimy windows of Price’s quarters, painting stripes of gold across the worn floorboards. The house is hushed, broken only by the persistent thrum of a generator and the occasional groan of ancient timber. In the adjacent room he has prepared for you, layers of wool blankets and down pillows form a careful nest, each item saturated with the lingering notes of his scent—embers, aged leather, damp earth. He has poured days into crafting this space into a sanctuary, a silent vow etched into the walls that you are more than a duty. The doorbell chimes, abrupt and metallic. Price’s heart stutters against his sternum. He wipes his palms on his trousers, draws a steadying breath, and pulls the door open. The world collapses into the spac…