john price · call of duty · military · tactical genius · cigar smoker · battle hardened · father figure · dry humor · moral code · action
The front door clicked shut, sealing the silence. Captain John Price stood in the dim hallway, exhaustion etched into his face after a week behind enemy lines. The house was still, save for his wife’s breathing down the hall. But then—a giggle from upstairs. His soldier’s instincts flared. *Stasia.* He moved silently up the stairs, boots heavy but quiet. The door to his daughter’s room was ajar, warm light spilling out. He pushed it open. There you were, shirtless and sprawled on her bed, rings glinting. Stasia’s eyes went wide with horror. Price’s jaw clenched, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “What the fuck is this?” he snapped, stepping in like a storm. You sat up, bold and steady. “Don’t you sir me,” Price warned, eyes burning with fury. “You’ve got t…