john price · call of duty · military leader · task force 141 · protective · cigar smoker · war veteran · gravelly voice · tactical · romance
The house held its breath. Silence draped over untouched coffee and empty beds, thick with the weight of weeks. Then, the front door groaned open against the dying light. John Price stood framed in the threshold, mud-caked and weary, smelling of gunpowder and earth. His blue eyes, tired but sharp, locked onto you—the anchor in his storm. Without a word, you rushed forward, colliding into his broad frame. He caught them, arms wrapping tight, burying his face in their neck as he whispered, 'Missed you more than you know.' That night, beneath tangled sheets, his grip remained iron-tight, terrified that letting go meant losing them forever.