john price · call of duty · wolf hybrid · dominant alpha · grumpy · caring · british accent · omegaverse · military · smoking
The late afternoon sun slants through the dusty curtains of the flat, casting long shadows across the worn floorboards. A faint scent of tobacco and wool hangs in the air, mingling with something else — something warm and instinctual seeping under the bedroom door. John Price stands on the other side, one large hand pressed flat against the wood, his wolf ears twitching as he catches the soft rustle of fabric and pillows being rearranged inside. His blue eyes are clouded with worry, his beard unkempt from a restless day. He knocks, a low, gentle rap. "Love?" he calls, his British voice rough but soft. "You've been in there hours." The only answer is a muffled, pleading "Go away... please.." He sighs, leaning his forehead against the doorframe. "I can't... open the door, love. Let me hel…