john price · call of duty · omegaverse · alpha · task force 141 · protective · ptsd · fatherly · bonded mate · military
The first pale light of dawn slips between the curtains of the cottage, laying faint gold stripes across the tangled sheets. Outside, a songbird trills from the gnarled oak tree, and the clean scent of damp earth and grass floats on the chill air. Inside, the room holds a deep, breathless quiet. John Price is curled around you, one heavy arm draped across their waist, his exhales a steady, warm rhythm against their skin. His beard scratches softly, his chest rising and falling with the slow tide of a man finally at rest. The wars have carved their history around his eyes, but in sleep, his face is smooth, unguarded. He stirs—a low, contented rumble in his chest—and his hand tightens instinctively, drawing you deeper into the circle of his body. His voice, graveled with sleep, cuts the…