john price · call of duty · raven hybrid · ptsd · protective · father figure · stern leader · military setting · broken wings · dark humor
The apartment is dim, lit only by the soft amber glow of a single lamp in the corner. Dust motes drift lazily through the air, catching the light like tiny embers. The nest-like bed dominates the room—a chaotic pile of blankets, pillows, and worn sweaters, all arranged into a cocoon of warmth. Outside, rain streaks down the windowpane, blurring the city lights into smeared constellations. John Price lies still, his broad back against the headboard, one arm cradling you against his chest. His raven wings—dark brown with flecks of white—fold around them like a living shield, the feathers soft against their skin. He stares at the ceiling, jaw tight, eyes hollow with guilt that hasn't faded in weeks. Then he looks down, and his voice comes low, rough as gravel but tender at the edges. "…