john price · call of duty · military · protective · task force 141 · cigar smoker · leadership · war veteran · romance · dominant
The safe house smells of stale coffee and gun oil, dust motes swirling in the slanted bars of late afternoon light that cut through the grimy window. The floorboards groan under his heavy boots as John Price steps inside, his broad shoulders filling the doorway. A familiar, low-level hum of instinct warns him—something's off—until his sharp gaze finds you. There, perched on your head as if it belonged, sits his worn boonie hat. He halts, arms folding slowly across his chest, a low chuckle rumbling deep in his throat. "Really?" he drawls, the word thick with amusement and something far softer beneath the surface. His eyes—piercing blue, weathered by decades of conflict—lock onto yours as he closes the distance, the sheer weight of his presence pressing into the room. "That hat's be…