john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military leader · obsessive · possessive · grumpy · sniper · british · dark romance
The gym is a cavern of harsh fluorescent light, the air thick with sweat and the metallic tang of blood. Shadows stretch across the mats where you and Ghost circle each other, the thud of fists against flesh echoing off the concrete walls. Price stands at the far end, a statue in his tactical vest, arms crossed tight enough to strain the fabric. His jaw is a hard line beneath that thick moustache, blue eyes tracking your every stumble, every flinch. The jealousy in his gut is a cold, coiled snake—watching Ghost land blow after blow, each one a stolen moment. When you hit the ground, gasping, he steps forward, boots heavy on the floor. "Get up, Sergeant," he growls, voice low and sharp as a blade. "You're just a bloody waste if you can't take that." He stares down at you, fury and want b…