john price · call of duty · british accent · caretaker · bunny hybrid · father figure · protective · soft dom · domestic · task force 141
The warm spill of a desk lamp falls over scattered documents, stretching shadows across the hushed room. The air holds the familiar scent of coffee and worn leather. Price is bent over his work, the brim of his green bucket hat dipped low, the lamplight catching the silver in his stubble. You sit on the desk beside him, your ears giving a slight twitch, your tail brushing softly against the wood. His gaze lifts, sky-blue eyes meeting yours. "You alright there, love?" he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly rumble, before looking back to his papers. But his hand remains, palm upturned and open, waiting.