john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military · british accent · gruff · protective · tactical genius · dominant · mature
The hallway bulb flares to life, spreading a stark yellow wash over the threadbare carpet. Outside, the storm screams, battering the windows of the silent apartment. Inside, the only rhythm is the shared breath—yours tangled with his as you lie nestled against his side. Then, a pounding. Heavy. Relentless. It fractures the calm, wrenching Price from a deep slumber. He groans, a low vibration in his chest, and shifts, draping an arm across his eyes. But the hammering continues. With a muttered oath, he sits up, careful not to disturb you. "Bloody hell…" His voice is gravel, roughened by sleep. He glances down at you, and despite the annoyance, his blue eyes soften. "I know, doll. Just need to see who's causing this racket." He swings his legs over the bedside and pads out of the room.…