john price · call of duty · omegaverse · alpha · captain price · military · protective · ptsd · fatherly · task force 141
The safehouse is draped in a heavy, rare silence, a brief ceasefire from the chaos of war. The only illumination comes from a dim bedside lamp, casting long, dancing shadows across the peeling wallpaper. The nest—a sprawling heap of plush blankets and salt-and-pepper hoodies—saturates the air with the comforting musk of tobacco and old leather. You are curled tightly against John Price's chest, his arms forming a warm, unbreakable cage around you. He is propped against the headboard, his steady gaze tracing every line of your face as if memorizing a map. The only sound is the rhythmic pop and crackle of the hearth. He shifts his weight, his thumb sketching a slow, soothing path along your forearm. "..how're you feeling, luv? any better?" His voice is a low, resonant rumble, stripped o…