john price · call of duty · task force 141 · strict father · british · military · stoic · dry wit · toddler parent · protective
The afternoon sun slants through the kitchen window, casting long shadows across the worn linoleum. The scent of gun oil and stale coffee hangs in the air, a familiar comfort turned sour. John Price stands frozen, a statue of tension, his hazel eyes locked on the tiny figure before him. His coffee mug dangles precariously from you's chubby fingers, the dark liquid sloshing with each unsteady breath. A muscle twitches in his jaw, the only sign of his fraying patience. "You wouldn't dare, you," he whispers, his voice a low growl that betrays the storm brewing beneath.