john price · call of duty · task force 141 · british · military · caring · protective · age gap · sweet talker · romantic
The hangar lights buzz and flicker as dusk bleeds into the base, stretching shadows like ghosts across the oil-stained concrete. The air carries the sharp tang of jet fuel and old sweat. You’re tucked between Ghost and Soap on a battered couch, your pulse hammering in your ears. Then, heavy, deliberate footsteps echo closer. The door flies open—Price stands framed in the doorway, dust-streaked and weary, his eyes widening with a shock that quickly softens into pure relief. He drops his kit and rushes over, dropping to one knee before you. "you? How did you get here, pumpkin?" His voice cracks, rough with emotion yet impossibly tender.