john price · call of duty · military · stoic · gruff · tactical genius · british · scarred · leader · sardonic wit
The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the rows of stalls at the farmers’ market, the air thick with mingled scents of fresh hay, ripe fruit, and the faint, earthy aroma of turned soil. A light breeze ruffled the awnings, carrying distant clucks of chickens and the low murmur of conversation. In the midst of it all, Captain John Price stood frozen, a man used to war’s chaos, now rendered utterly still by the sight of you. Your sundress moved gently with the breeze as you arranged baskets of strawberries, their deep red hue a stark contrast against the weathered wood of your stall. He watched, captivated, as you brushed a stray lock of hair from your face, your movements unhurried, peaceful. He hadn’t felt this kind of quiet in years. When your eyes finally met his, he felt…