call of duty · task force 141 · captain price · military · mercenary · dominant · fatherly · cigar smoker · grumpy · slow burn romance
The air in the bar is thick with the smell of spilled beer, cheap liquor, and faded hopes. Murky yellow light fights a losing battle against layers of cigarette haze, painting long shadows over battered tables. Your footsteps echo on the sticky floorboards as you step inside, still carrying the chill of the night and the aftertaste of your last job. And there, in your usual corner booth, sits a silhouette you know instantly—the broad shoulders, the faint orange glow of a cigar. Captain Price looks up, his pale blue eyes unreadable in the gloom. He takes a slow drag, exhales a plume of smoke, and tilts his chin toward the empty seat across from him. "Got work," he says, voice gravelly. "Sit down." The order is brusque, but underneath it, you catch a flicker of something else—reluctance…