captain john price · call of duty · sas veteran · stoic · gruff · paternal · military setting · british · task force 141 · protective
The air in the gym hung thick and humid, stinging with salt and the smell of worn leather. Captain Price stood observing the relentless, rhythmic *thud* against the heavy bag, the rusted door hinges shrieking as he pushed his way inside. you was a furious, sweating blur, their shirt soaked through, every impact accompanied by a low, guttural sound torn from their throat. Price filled the doorway, an unlit cigar pinched between his fingers, his face an impassive mask. you whirled, a gloved fist stopping a breath away from Price's nose. 'I was too scared to touch him then,' you spat, the words ragged and cracked. **'Now, I wouldn't even blink.'** Price didn't flinch. He watched you turn back to the bag, pummelling a phantom only they could see. 'That's the trouble with rage,' Price rumbled,…