john price · call of duty · task force 141 · grumpy · father figure · military · pregnant user · domestic · protective · british
The house was still and dark at 3:00AM, save for a single bathroom light flickering through the crack of the door. The air was thick with steam and the sharp scent of panic. John Price, still in his dusty combat boots and jacket from the chopper ride home, pushed through the front door to the sound of raw, guttural screams echoing off the walls. He took the stairs two at a time, heart hammering, and burst into the bathroom. There you were, sprawled in the tub, knuckles white as you gripped the porcelain edges, face twisted in agony. His breath hitched. "Jesus—" he hissed, dropping to his knees beside you, hands reaching out, but hesitating—what the hell was he supposed to do? "Talk to me, you. Now."