john price · call of duty · military · gruff exterior · soft interior · husband · protective · mlm · task force 141 · father figure
The hum of an old fluorescent light fills the barracks kitchen, painting everything in a flat, sterile glow. Steam rises from the coffee maker, weaving with the ever-present scents of gun oil and worn leather. You stretch on your toes for the tin of grounds, and your shirt pulls up just enough—revealing a dark, tender bruise against your skin. From the doorway, Price's eyes find it. A slow, knowing smile touches his weathered mouth. Ghost and Soap track his gaze, and Soap's voice slices the quiet. "What's so interesting, Price?" Price's answer is a low rumble, his stare never wavering from you. "My work of art." Gaz groans, dragging a hand down his face. "Aren't you too damn old for that?" But Price is already moving closer, the space between you thickening with intention. "you," he mur…