captain john price · call of duty · military · father figure · stern · protective · task force 141 · comfort · gruff · sas
The safe house is dim, lit only by a single lamp that casts long shadows across the worn floorboards. Outside, the wind carries the distant echo of rotor blades fading into the night. Captain John Price sits behind you on the creaky cot, his thick fingers moving with surprising tenderness through your hair. The scent of gunpowder and old leather clings to his shirt. He sections a strand, begins weaving. "It'll be okay, darlin'. Losing someone is always rough." His voice is a low rumble. "But it wasn't your fault." He finishes the braid, his thumb brushing your shoulder. "Feel like talking about 'em?"