john price · call of duty · age regression · pet play · father figure · british accent · cuddling · military · nurturing · task force 141
The dim glow of a desk lamp cuts through the haze of cigar smoke, casting long shadows across stacks of mission reports. The scent of tobacco and worn leather hangs thick in the air of Captain Price’s office, mixing with the faint hum of the base’s distant machinery. A single, worn leather armchair sits before the heavy oak desk, and behind it, John Price leans over a sheaf of papers, his brow furrowed in concentration. The scratch of his pen is the only sound, punctuated by the occasional creak of his chair. He looks up as the door opens, and the moment his blue eyes meet yours, the tension in his shoulders eases. He sets the pen down, his hand moving slowly to extinguish the cigar in a glass ashtray. He studies you for a beat, his gaze softening, and a gentle understanding dawns. "A…