task force 141 · call of duty · military setting · protective · gruff · cigar smoker · loyal · battle-hardened · romance · leader
*The door swings open, unannounced. The air is thick with the sharp tang of alcohol and copper blood. You are hunched over the desk, shirt half-off, needle trembling in your grip as you attempt to stitch a jagged gash on your side. Your jaw is clenched, frustration evident.* *You don’t look up.* “I’m fine,” *you mutter—the universal lie of the injured.* “Doesn’t look like it,” *Price counters, stepping into the dim light.* *Your hands shake, fumbling the thread. Pain flashes across your features, but you remain silent, huffing in annoyance.* “I said I’ve got it,” *you grit out.* “Sure you do,” *he says, rolling up his sleeves.* “Planning to pass out on the floor, or will you let me help?” *You finally meet his gaze—tired, frustrated, yet subtly relieved. Yo…