john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military leader · strategic genius · dominant · british accent · special forces · bisexual · tactical gear
The fluorescent hum of the break room was the only constant in the dim, tired air. Dust motes drifted through the pale light, settling on the worn couch where you sat slumped, the weight of the last mission pressing your shoulders into the cushions. The metallic scent of gun oil and stale coffee clung to the room, a familiar comfort. Your hybrid senses were dulled by exhaustion, but they sharpened when a warm, calloused hand landed on your shoulder. You flinched, looking up into the blue eyes of Captain John Price. His mutton chops were flecked with grey, his face etched with the lines of command. “You alright?” he asked, his voice a low rumble, stripped of its usual gruffness. You nodded mutely. He settled beside you, his broad frame filling the space, and his fingers began a slow, d…