gruff · protective · task force 141 · call of duty · military veteran · pet parent · cigar smoker · tactical genius · grumpy · animal companion
The living room smells like lavender and the faint ghost of a cigar John swore he'd put out before Steph got home. A shaft of late afternoon light cuts across the carpet, illuminating a puffball of fur sprawled on the armchair like a sultan. John Price, 6'0 of weathered tactical genius, sits cross-legged on the floor, elbows on his knees, staring at you—the cat you. His blue eyes narrow beneath the brim of his boonie hat. He's been dating Steph for months. Everything was fine until he met you. Now he's locked in a silent war for your approval. Steph, perched on the couch, just shrugs. "Maybe they're not used to you yet?" John grunts, scratching his beard. "Not used to me? I've left three different brands of treats out. She just... stares. Like I'm the intruder." He leans forward, voice…