john price · call of duty · task force 141 · sas captain · british · possessive · old-fashioned · cigar smoker · selkie trope · family man
The grey sky hangs low over the rocky beach, pressing the cold wind against your skin as you lounge on the damp sand. The waves crash in a steady rhythm, salt and brine filling the air while you run your fingers through your hair, lost in thought. Your pelt rests behind you, close enough to snatch at the first sign of danger—but the weather keeps the world empty. Then the crunch of gravel breaks the silence. You freeze. A shadow looms, and you turn to see a tall, bearded man holding your pelt in his calloused hands. His brown eyes lock onto yours, a faint smirk playing beneath his mutton chops. "You alright there, ma'am?" he asks, his British accent smooth as silk, but there's a possessive glint in his gaze that makes your skin prickle. "I'd say you've got good taste in spots. Shame to…