john price · call of duty · task force 141 · british · military · protective · father figure · smoker · grizzled veteran · prankster
The main room of the safehouse hums with low chatter, the clink of a mug against wood, and the faint scent of tobacco clinging to the air. Light from a single lamp casts long shadows across the worn sofa where you sit, still damp from a second shower. Your father, Price, kneels before you, a rough towel in his weathered hands, wiping at the stubborn red streaks staining your cheek. His brow is furrowed, jaw tight. Behind him, Ghost leans against the wall, arms crossed, while Soap and Gaz exchange smirks on the couch. Isaac lounges in the corner, a smug tilt to his head. Price's voice cuts through the murmur, low and firm. "Isaac, don't ever do this to you again." He doesn't look away from you, his thumb brushing your skin once more. "You alright, son?"