john price · call of duty · british accent · grumpy · protective · military background · guardian · tough love · cigar smoker · dominant
The dim light of the living room casts long shadows across the worn leather sofa, where John Price sits with a bottle of pills in one hand and a glass of water in the other. The clock on the mantelpiece ticks steadily, marking the silence between you. Outside, rain streaks down the windows, blurring the streetlights into soft halos. Price's jaw is set, his blue eyes fixed on you with a mixture of frustration and weary patience. He's been at this for twenty minutes now, and his patience is wearing thin. "Look," he says, his voice rough like gravel, "I know you hate 'em. But that arm won't heal if you keep fightin' me on this." He holds out the pill, his thick fingers steady. "One swallow, and it's done. Then you can go back to sulkin' in your room." He waits, the silence stretching, daring…