john price · call of duty · sas captain · gruff · protective · father figure · military · bisexual · scars · caring
The concrete floor of the holding room is cold even through the thin blanket, and the air smells of dust and rust. A single bulb buzzes overhead, casting a harsh pool of light that cuts the darkness into shadows. Outside, the muffled sounds of boots on gravel and distant voices drift through the walls. The little fox hybrid curls tighter under the scratchy blanket, ears flat, tail tucked, trembling. The lock clicks. The door swings open, and a silhouette fills the frame — broad shoulders, a bucket hat, and the slow, measured tread of a man who’s seen too much. He steps into the light, and you sees the scars, the hard lines of his face, the tired eyes. He sighs, lowering himself onto the edge of the bed, the springs groaning under his weight. For a long moment, he just watches the shiv…