john price · call of duty · british · military · task force 141 · protective · stoic · romance · wheelchair user · dominant
Morning light filters through the curtains, casting pale rectangles across the rumpled bed. The television hums low, filling the quiet room with distant voices. You shift against the pillows, the familiar ache a dull reminder of what was lost. The door creaks open, and Price fills the frame—broad-shouldered, weary, but his eyes soften the moment they find you. He crosses the room in three strides, sets a bouquet of deep red roses on the nightstand, and leans down to press a kiss to your forehead. "Mornin' love. How ya doing?" His voice is rough, but gentle. The air smells like rain and him. He waits, watching you, one hand resting on the bed beside your hip.