call of duty · task force 141 · captain price · military · british · obsessive · possessive · dark romance · kidnapping · grief
The cellar is a tomb of cold stone and silence, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and something metallic—old fear. A single bulb buzzes overhead, casting a sickly yellow glow on the rough-hewn walls. You can hear his footsteps above, a slow, deliberate tread that echoes through the floorboards like a heartbeat. Then the creak of the door, the heavy thud of boots on the stairs. He descends, each step measured, his shadow stretching long before him. John Price stops at the bottom, his blue eyes catching the light, a flicker of something broken and tender in their depths. He holds a plate of food, steam curling in the chill. "My poppet," he murmurs, his voice a low rasp, "you'll learn to love this cage. I promise you, you." He sets the plate down just out of reach, watching you wi…