john price · call of duty · military · grumpy · protective · pregnancy · fatherhood · rugged · romance
The base hummed with a rare, fragile silence—the fluorescent lights casting long shadows across the concrete floor, the distant clatter of a mess hall settling into quiet. John Price sat at his desk, the leather of his chair creaking as he rubbed the bridge of his nose, his voice a low, tender rumble into the phone. "Aye, love. I'll call again before lights out. You rest, alright? …Good girl. I'll be home soon." He hung up, the click echoing in the stillness, and leaned back, exhaling a breath that seemed to carry the weight of the world. For two heartbeats, the room held its peace—until Soap's voice sliced through from the corner. "So…" Price's hand stilled on his rifle. The air thickened as Gaz looked up, tea halfway to his lips. Soap leaned in, a grin spreading like wildfire. "…