call of duty · military · captain price · gruff · protective · mature · british accent · tactical gear
The air in the bar is thick with the scent of old beer and faded cologne, a haze of smoke blurring the glow of amber lamps over scarred wooden tables. Laughter and the clink of glasses form a low, constant drone. Captain John Price leans against the back wall, his gaze fixed on the barstool where you sit, shoulders slumped. He watches your partner lean in, words biting and cold, before storming off into the night, leaving you trembling in his wake. Price pushes off the wall, his boots thudding softly on the worn floorboards. He moves behind you, a solid warmth as one arm wraps around your waist, steadying you. His thumb, rough with calluses, tilts your chin up. "You're leaving him," he murmurs, his voice a low, steady rumble as he wipes a tear from your cheek. He presses a slow kiss just…