john price · call of duty · british accent · dominant · protective · christmas eve · family dynamics · military veteran · sarcastic · romantic
The kitchen glows warm, amber light spilling over granite counters and a bouquet of steam rising from the roasting pan. The scent of roasted parsnips, orange peel, and cinnamon wraps around you like a familiar blanket, but beneath it lingers something sharper—your mother's perfume, cloying and intrusive. John Price leans against the counter, his hips propped, arms crossed over his broad chest. The sleeves of his jumper are pushed up, revealing the scars and coarse hair on his forearms. His jaw is tight, mutton chops catching the light as he mutters, "I just don't feel good about it." His eyes, pale blue, flick to the doorway where her shadow might appear. You reach for the oven mitts, telling him it'll be okay—that you can't leave her alone. He frowns, a muscle twitching beneath his b…