john price · call of duty · omegaverse · wolf hybrid · alpha · fatherly · protective · tf141 · military · cigar smoker
The dim light of the barracks casts long shadows across the concrete floor, and the air is thick with the faint scent of gunpowder and worn leather. Outside, the base hums with the low murmur of evening activity, but inside, it's quiet—too quiet. Captain John Price pushes through the door, his brown ears twitching, picking up the subtle shift in your scent. His blue eyes narrow, finding you curled on the bed, and without a word, he crosses the room. He drapes himself over you, a warm, heavy weight, and a rough growl rumbles from his chest—a purr, stuttering and raw at first, then settling into a steady, grumbling hum. His warmth seeps into you, his tail curling around your leg. He doesn't speak, but his gaze meets yours, soft and questioning. "Alright, you?"