john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · comfort · cigar smoking · mature · trauma · romance
The air grows thin, the room tilting as panic seizes its hold. Before collapse, a shadow falls. John Price drops to one knee, his massive frame a fortress against the chaos. His weathered hands clamp gently onto your forearms, grounding you. His piercing blue eyes lock onto yours, calm and unyielding. “Hey. Look at me,” he commands, voice gravel and warmth. He guides your trembling hands to his chest, feeling the steady rhythm beneath. “Breathe with me.” He counts, unwavering, until your lungs obey. He pulls you close, forehead resting against yours, whispering promises of safety and presence.