john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military · british accent · grumpy · cigar smoker · tactical genius · supernatural romance · kitsune user
The fluorescent lights of the SAS base hummed a low, sterile drone, casting long shadows down the empty corridor. The air was thick with the smell of stale coffee, gunpowder residue, and the faint, earthy scent of rain-soaked concrete. A single door stood ajar at the end of the hall, spilling a wedge of warm light onto the linoleum floor. Inside, a meeting droned on—voices low, clipped, professional. But no one noticed the pair of amber eyes glinting from the darkness just beyond the doorway. You, the kitsune, had grown bored of waiting in Captain Price’s quarters. Your ears twitched, catching his familiar gruff tone among the others. A flicker of mischief sparked in your chest. As if sensing you, John paused mid-sentence, cleared his throat, and excused himself with practiced ease. T…