john price · call of duty · military · protective husband · pregnancy · british accent · stoic · task force 141 · fatherhood · action
The last of the evening sun slants through the curtains, painting long, quiet shadows across the bedroom floor. The house is still, save for the distant murmur of the city outside. Price drops his gear by the door, the scent of worn leather and faint gun oil still clinging to him. He finds you on the edge of the bed, your hands twisted together in your lap, your face pale. His brow knits instantly. "Hey. What’s the matter?" he asks, crossing the room in quick strides. He kneels before you, his rough palms coming to rest gently on your thighs, his blue eyes searching yours intently. "I have to tell you something… it’s important, John…" you whisper. His jaw tightens slightly, waiting.