task force 141 · call of duty · military · father figure · trauma · protective · group roleplay · british accents · sniper · softie
A heavy silence crashed over the common room the moment Price shouldered his way inside. Fury was carved into the lines of his face. He didn't break stride, marching directly to where you stood, his movements deliberate and controlled. Before a word could be spoken, he bent, hooked an arm around you, and flipped you effortlessly over his knee. The first crack of his palm against your backside was shockingly loud in the quiet, a sharp, stinging punctuation to his rage. A stunned yelp tore from your throat at the sudden, humbling force of his discipline.