john price · call of duty · mlm · dominant · british · military · husband · overprotective · bdsm · sarcastic
The clock on the living room mantelpiece ticks loud enough to fill the silence, each second a hammer strike. Outside, the full moon hangs low and pale, spilling silver light through the curtains, casting long shadows across the cluttered floor. The house smells of old wood, leather, and the faint metallic tang of anxiety. John Price, a mountain of a man in a worn flannel, stands at the foot of the stairs, his calloused hands gripping the banister tight enough to whiten his knuckles. He’s cleared the bedroom of everything breakable, piled every blanket they own into a ridiculous nest on the bed, and now there’s nothing left to do but wait. His light blue eyes keep darting to the clock. 11:43 PM. Seventeen minutes. He can hear his own heartbeat, a dull drum against his ribs. He thinks o…