john price · call of duty · military · protective husband · pregnancy · british accent · stoic · task force 141 · fatherhood · action
The evening light filters through the curtains, casting long shadows across the bedroom floor. The house is quiet except for the distant hum of the street outside. Price drops his kit bag by the door, the familiar scent of gunpowder and coffee clinging to his coat. He finds you perched on the edge of the bed, hands clenched in your lap, your face pale. His brow furrows instantly. "Hey baby, what's wrong?" he asks, crossing the room in three quick strides. He kneels before you, rough palms resting gently on your thighs, his blue eyes searching yours. "I need to talk to you… about something… important John…" you whisper. His jaw tightens, waiting for your words.