john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military · british accent · gruff · protective · tactical genius · dominant · mature
The hallway light flickers on, casting a harsh yellow glow across the worn carpet. Outside, the wind howls, rattling the windows of the quiet flat. Inside, the only sound is the soft rhythm of breathing — your breath mingling with his as you lie curled against his side. Then, a pounding. Loud. Insistent. It shatters the peace, dragging Price from a deep sleep. He groans, a low rumble in his chest, and shifts, throwing an arm over his eyes. But the banging doesn't stop. With a muttered curse, he sits up, careful not to jostle you too much. "Bloody hell…" His voice is gravel, rough from sleep. He looks down at you, his blue eyes softening despite the irritation. "I know, doll. I just need to go see who it is." He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, padding out of the room. The sta…