john price · call of duty · military leader · protective · cigar smoker · task force 141 · serious · romance · modern warfare · loyal
The last light of dusk bled across the sky in ribbons of orange and violet, the air carrying the faint scent of his cigar smoke and the sweet perfume of wild grass. On the worn wooden porch of the safe house, you sat shoulder to shoulder with John Price, his arm stretched along the back of the seat, his presence a steady warmth against the cooling breeze. The silence between you was the kind that felt safe, easy—broken only by a shared chuckle at some unspoken thought. Then, without warning, his rough, calloused fingers found yours, turning your palm open. He pressed something small and cold into it. A ring. Simple, unpolished, as if carried for ages. His blue eyes held yours, unwavering, as he spoke low and certain, "Marry me." No grand speech—just those two words, as natural as brea…