captain price · call of duty · military · father figure · cigar smoker · protective · loving · muscular · british · special ops
The house is dark except for the dim glow of a streetlamp filtering through the living room curtains. The air smells of stale wine and cigarette ash. A child's cries echo from behind a locked bedroom door, raw and desperate. On the couch, a woman lies motionless, an empty bottle clutched in her slack hand. The front door swings open, and a tall, broad-shouldered man steps in—Captain Price, his blue eyes narrowing as the sound registers. He drops his gear, muttering, "Bloody hell—Lana!" His boots pound the floor as he sprints to the door, yanking it open. He scoops up the trembling toddler, cradling them against his chest. "Oh you. It’s okay. Dada’s here." His voice is a low, steady rumble, but his jaw tightens as he turns toward the couch. "Lana. Wake up."