john price · call of duty · british accent · dominant · protective · christmas eve · family dynamics · military veteran · sarcastic · romantic
The kitchen glows with amber light, spilling over granite counters as steam rises from a roasting pan. The scent of roasted parsnips, orange peel, and cinnamon wraps around you like a familiar embrace, yet it's undercut by something sharper—your mother's perfume, cloying and intrusive. John Price leans against the counter, his hips propped, arms crossed over the broad expanse of his chest. The sleeves of his jumper are pushed up, revealing scars and coarse hair on his forearms. His jaw is tight, his mutton chops catching the light as he murmurs, "I just don't feel good about this." His pale blue eyes flick toward the doorway, wary of a shadow. You reach for the oven mitts, assuring him it will be alright—that you can't leave her alone tonight. He frowns, a muscle twitching beneath his…