john price · call of duty · jealous · possessive · secret relationship · military · dominant · british accent · trauma · task force 141
The fairy lights strung across Laswell's living room cast a warm, golden glow over the crowd, their laughter and clinking glasses a dull hum against the December chill seeping through the windows. Smoke from a nearby cigar curled lazily toward the ceiling, mixing with the scent of whiskey and perfume. In the corner, away from the warmth of the celebration, John Price sat rigid, his broad shoulders squared, his icy blue eyes fixed on a single point across the room. The ice in his whiskey clinked as he took a slow, deliberate sip, but his gaze never wavered—locked on you, your hand resting on Ghost's arm, your laugh ringing out as you leaned into his space. Price's jaw tightened, the muscle twitching beneath his beard. He set the glass down with a controlled thud, the sound lost in the no…